


The Lodge

by venomedveins



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Blood, Camping, Creepy Characters, F/M, Gore, Haunting, Horror, Humor, M/M, Smut, youtube stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duro and Auctus are Youtube stars, famous for their DIY channel on home repair, interior decorating, and crafts. Agron and Nasir often cameo on the show, doing brotherly challenges and relationship advice. After hosting a contest to see what their next big make over is going to be, the couple get sent the keys to an isolated mansion in the woods. </p>
<p>Dragging along their friends, the group sets out for a month long excursion to remodel the house, but not all is what it seems. Who is this anonymous owner? Where are the neighbors? What horrors have happened here and what remain?</p>
<p>(Now remastered and finished!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lodge

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've taken so long posting this because I was just really unhappy with the original content. I didn't think I was doing the story justice and I really wanted to focus on it. Thus, I took it all and rewrote it and finished it! I hope you all enjoy the full version and please feel free to comment.
> 
> Please note trigger warnings: horror fic (meaning creepy instances, talking of death, etc.), blood & gore, mentions of past death, shameless smut, violence, suspense, and tension breaking humor.

It started as a passing fancy really. Duro started by doing DIYs and craft videos, tricks of the trade from his job as an interior decorator, and random bits of life advice along the way. It was edgy and snarky, a gay decorator with his carpenter boyfriend, going around restoring old houses and apartment buildings. Then he did a whole series about helping create all the guest bags and table settings for Naevia and Crixus' wedding, and suddenly he had over ten thousand followers on Youtube. 

He had been doing pretty well, a continuous following that relied on him for his creative color palettes, modern furniture, and antique restoration, and then Agron had ruined it all. While in the middle of explaining how to get monopodium leg off a dresser, Agron – fresh from the shower and wearing very low riding sweatpants – had walked behind Duro. He hadn't even thought of it, even while editing, but it only took three hours after posting the video for Agron to suddenly have a fan base. People begged to meet him, get more information, wanted to know if he was single. 

It only increased from there. Duro tried to keep his brother out of the videos. After all, this was about home improvement and gay life, not about how hot his brother was or how many pounds he could bench press. But then, while posting a fun bloopers real, the sound of Agron and Nasir fucking in the background somehow got onto the audio, and the whole audience of the channel began to change. It became less about how to turn your tiny studio rental in a posh pad and more into two gay brothers and the people that filled it. 

Duro had begged them to be more quiet, at least for the scheduled times he was recording, but it happened again and again, excuses flimsy and scattered between barely hidden laughter. They seemed to be insatiable (not that they never weren't) but it just increased the moment Agron finally popped the question. Twelve videos later, it was the running gag of Duro's channel. 

Then, and they swore it was by accident, during a live chat, Nasir and Agron came stumbling through the house. They were already making out, Agron fisting Nasir's hair as he backed him across the living room, pausing behind the couch to yank Nasir's tank top over the top of his head before they crashed through to the stairs. Their stomping banged overhead, a bedroom door slammed open and shut with a loud giggle. Paralyzed, Duro could barely keep the conversation going as the loud, rhythmic thumping filled the whole downstairs. It was the bass line and the moans grew louder and louder as time went on, Nasir finding completion with a scream.

To make matters worse, half an hour later, they both came out, (Agron again in those fucking sweatpants and Nasir in Agron's shirt, hanging to mid-thigh). Upon realizing what Duro was doing, they took it upon themselves to join in, sitting on either side of Duro and leaning into him. They answered questions and were their usual charming selves, sharing quick little pecks over Duro's lap and teasing him relentlessly, and yet they could only sit for an hour before Agron got that look in his eye and Nasir started wiggling. They were up and back into Agron's room in minutes, leaving Duro to awkwardly sign off the chat with an apology and mortification. 

Now, they are sometimes guests on the show. Nasir's work as an artist and painter help keep up the decorating aspect of it and Agron's gym owning skills have added a fitness side. In fact, Duro is aware of a whole Tumblr cult following that is made up mostly of gifs of Agron doing pull ups and flexing. Plus, seeing the brothers compete against each other in all the fan challenges always help keep fans interested. Video 133 was Agron and Duro doing the yoga challenge while Nasir cackled in the background, and Duro spent the next five days with a goose egg on his forehead when Agron’s heel caught him in the face. Over all, the channel was blooming and fans were loyal and hungry for more. 

It wasn't until last month that something extremely unexpected happened. 

Duro held a poll to see what viewers wanted his new project to be. He was on the fence about doing a Victorian remodeling or townhouse in the city, when suddenly the write-in section exploded with this random hunting lodge deep in the woods about six hours away from him. Apparently, the folklore behind the place was pretty sketchy, a lot of hauntings and murders happened around it, and Duro's following had dubbed it the place of choice. 

Naturally, through a lot of pouting and puppy dog eyes, Duro had gotten the whole gang to agree. 

\- - - 

Sock footed and tiptoeing, Duro aims his camera along the dark hallway, careful not to knock the family photos and artwork from the walls, and up to Agron's door. Hanging in the center of the white boards are the wooden A & N letters Nasir carved, a marker for their shared space. They’re red stained and ornate, tiny animals and plants carved into a tiny and dainty design. Duro ignores them as he slowly presses down the door handle, remembering to lift so the hinges don't creak as it swings inward.

It's nearly pitch black inside the room, a tiny sliver of light coming from the candle warmer in the corner. Agron is sprawled on his back, one arm above his head and his right foot dangling from the cranberry sheets. Curled with his head on Agron's chest, Nasir presses his body along Agron's side, blankets pulled up enough that it hides their nakedness but still wrecked around their legs. He groans in his sleep, nuzzling his nose against Agron's sternum before settling again. They look so peaceful, Duro has to hesitate for just a minute before he leaps forward, landing hard on Agron's legs. 

“Wake up, fuckers! It's camping time!” Duro shouts, smacking Agron's chest hard, an inch from Nasir's nose. 

“Duro?” Agron blinks his eyes open, recoiling from the glowing green light of his brother's camera. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Agron’s hand instinctively slips below his pillow, curled around something metal that glints in the light.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nasir hisses, pushing himself up on his elbow. Curls fall around his face from his bun.

“Up and at 'em! We've got an hour before we need to be on the road!” Duro bounces a little, shaking the whole bed. “And not a minute after.”

“What time is it?” Agron asks, rubbing a hand across his face, groaning loudly as Duro's weight presses sharply on his calves. 

“Four o'clock!” Duro chirps, bouncing some more, training the camera on Nasir's murderous glare. “And look at this sleeping beauty. Say hey to all the viewers, Nasir!”

“Get that camera out of my fucking face before I shove it through your head,” Nasir glowers, swinging his legs off the bed before pulling on a random t-shirt. In the glare of the camera, Duro can just make out the sharp cut of his shoulder blades and the dark hickies lining his spine. He’ll be sure to edit that out later. 

“Baby,” Agron tries for soothing, pushing Duro off of him and onto the floor with a loud thud, but it's too no avail. 

“Fucking Germans and their god damn codependent bullshit. It's too fucking early. Are you fucking kidding me right now? It's god damn four o'clock in the fucking morning and I'm awake because of these assholes.” Nasir mutters to himself, pattering around the bed and into the bathroom. 

He slams the door with a loud crack, followed quickly by the sliding of the lock. 

\- - - 

“Duro, put that camera down and help me load up the bags!” Auctus calls, lifting a large duffle bag full of tools into the back of the truck. It clangs loudly, a metallic dragging noise as he pushes it towards the back.

“One sec. I wanna introduce the crew,” Duro focuses on the lens on Spartacus' face, grinning behind the camera, “This is Spartacus. He'll be one of the main carpenters on the project.” 

Spartacus waves awkwardly, using bungie cords to secure a few boxes in the back of his SUV. He's never been a fan of Duro's camera obsession, usually shying away from it. The thing about Spartacus is though he always seems to be the leader, the father figure of their ragtag family, he shies away from the limelight, from the glory of it. He just wants to exist within them, to be the glue that holds them all together. 

“And this lovely lady is Mira. She will be doing all antique work and fixtures. As well as helping Nasir with the painting.”

Mira hops a little, waving her hands in a mocking jazz hands before laughing, turning back to helping Spartacus load up some more power tools. She is the light, even when things seem to get the darkest.

“Crixus and Naevia are in charge of demolition,” Duro pans the camera over to the couple, who all wave slightly, Naevia brandishing a sledge hammer. “And Barca and Pietros are gonna meet us there with the spooky backstory of the place.”

“These two people you know-” Duro starts to pan over only to stop, awkwardly zoomed in on where Agron and Nasir are standing by the driver's side of Agron's huge Chevy. Agron's arms are crossed over his chest, leaning down slightly as Nasir murmurs up at him, eyebrows furrowed. Duro can just make them out over the laughter and chatter of the rest of the group. 

“I just want to spend time with you,” Agron's whisper voice is more like a whisper yell, craning his head down towards his fiancé. “We just need a break, baby, from work and stress and shit.”

“I know. I know that,” Nasir shakes his head, fingers rubbing through his hair. “But you promised me this would be like a vacation and not like some bro frat party turned into a huge renovation. I agreed because you said this was going to be us time, but I’m starting to think maybe I should just stay home.”

“I promise, I fucking swear, that we will have time for us. We won't be doing everything. We have what, eight other people who can be working?” Agron steps forward, wrapping his arms around Nasir's waist and pulling him forward, kissing him deeply on the mouth, “I promise. Don’t stay home. We’ll be gone for a month, and you know that will drive us both crazy.”

“A month is a long time in this big house,” Nasir’s eyes glance back up at their house, the large yellow door and cream colored shutters.

“Think of how lonely you’ll be,” Agron nips at Nasir’s bottom lip, “All by yourself. I’ll be too far into the woods to get a signal. No late night phone calls. No dirty texts. Not even an email to send you a blurry picture of my cock.”

Nasir tries to resist the grin, rolling his eyes as Agron tugs on his belt, leaning forward to breathe the words against his ear. “We’ll go fucking crazy.”

“Fine, but,” Nasir starts, letting himself be interrupted by another kiss, “if anything goes wrong on this trip, one thing, and I'm going to sleep in the truck and you can sleep alone in the tent.”

“If you sleep in the truck, how am I going to fuck you under the stars?” Agron growls, nipping playfully at Nasir's neck. 

“I suggest you get used to your hands, because they're not touching me.” Nasir shrugs, leaning back from Agron's assault. He can’t escape Agron’s long reach though as Agron easily pulls him back, kissing him hard on the mouth. 

“Sorry baby. I don't know what's happening,” Agron's hands smooth over Nasir's back, down to grip his ass, lifting him up onto his toes. The mirth in his voice slurs his words together, “I think my hands are just magnetized to you. It's crazy. I don't think they're going to be able to let you go. I may just be stuck to you forever.”

“Oh, is that the case now?” Nasir laughs, shaking his head, “Can't touch anything but me?”

“I don't want to,” Agron growls, tickling his hands down Nasir's side to produce a giggle from him. 

It's kind of amazing that even at five in the morning, when he's so pissed and so fucking exhausted, that Agron can always make Nasir happy. 

\- - - 

The plan is to camp out the first three days as they assess the safety of the hunting lodge before they move themselves into the building itself. The complete project should only take about a month, and Duro has plans to update his channel every two days with improvements and tips. It’s his biggest project yet, something he knows he will only be able to accomplish with the full support of the team, yet he can’t help but feel excited. It’s finally a chance to be taken seriously, to push his channel to new limits.

"Are you sure we packed enough water? I don't know how safe the streams are going to be around here and we haven’t checked the plumbing yet," Auctus asks, typing away on his iPad. Next to him, Duro shoots stock footage of the passing trees, knees digging into the back of Agron’s driver’s seat. 

"We have enough water. We packed water. Spartacus packed water. Naevia packed water. We'll be well hydrated." Duro mutters, refocusing the camera on the inside of the truck instead, zooming in on Nasir and Agron's joined hands on the console. Nasir's engagement ring glitters in the sunrise, ruby casting a rainbow reflection on the ceiling. 

"Did you grab the extra bag of groceries on the counter?" Auctus asks, tapping again on his screen, "The one with the hot dogs in it and the extra lighter fluid? We might need to use the fireplaces."

"Yes," Duro rolls his eyes. "Are you checking off a list or something? I've got this, babe. We're good."

"Just gotta make sure everything was taken care of." Auctus shrugs, flashing a grin at his boyfriend, "Sometimes you get a little too excited about projects and skip the essential stuff like food and water."

"Oh come on! I never do that!" Duro shakes his head, looking out from behind the camera. “I'm always the most prepared!”

"You do. One time you forgot to shower for like a week," Auctus laughs, "Everyone could smell you the moment they stepped foot in the house. We had to evacuate some people. It was that bad."

"Fuck off!" Duro shakes his head, poking Auctus in the chest. They get into a small wrestling match, Duro letting out a peal of laughter when Auctus gets his fingers against his ribs.

"You also forget to eat, hence why I have every take out place in town on speed dial," Agron adds, shaking his head as he shifts lanes. "And a poorly reduced bank account. What would you do if you didn't have me? You'd be withered away to nothing by now." 

"Dick," Duro flicks the back of Agron's head, "You spend too much money on your wedding. That's your problem. Not me. Your bank account suffers the more your guest list grows."

"Yeah, okay. Don't be mad just because we are going to have the best wedding ever. Besides," Agron lifts his joined hand, kissing the back of Nasir's hand, "whatever my baby wants, he gets."

Nasir hums softly, rolling his head against the back of his seat to stare over at Agron. He looks so fucking good, even in the dim light, gray sweater stretched across his bulging arms, sunglasses glinting. Even after all this time, it still amazes Nasir how even looking at his fiancé can force his stomach to turn, butterflies erupting knowing that he’s going to get to have him forever – married life is going to suite them so well. Even now, as Agron flashes him a dimpled grin, it startles a blush to Nasir’s cheeks, makes Nasir want to reach over and press against him, kiss along that perfect jawline. 

"Anything you want." Agron can't see Nasir's eyes through his large, dark sunglasses, but he knows they're probably wide and bright.

“I love you,” Nasir murmurs, leaning across the hard plastic center and kissing Agron's cheek. 

“I love you too.”

"You two are fucking disgusting," Duro grumbles, flopping back in his seat. "So gross. Do you think we can make it through this whole fucking car ride without you two being all lovey dovey on each other?”

“You're just mad because we were the best boyfriends and now we're the best fiancés,” Nasir teases, leaning over the back of his seat to stick his tongue out at Duro. Even with his previous annoyance still in mind, Nasir tries for teasing – light in the wake of a new day.

“You don’t even stand a chance against me and Auctus.” Reaching out, Duro tugs a loose strand of Nasir’s hair. 

“Yeah because we exceed it. Don’t you remember the couple challenge video you did?” Nasir rolls his eyes, “Agron and I have a _proven_ better relationship than you. We’ve been together nearly three years.”

“You don't have a better relationship then us!" Duro cries, collapsing back on his seat, looking scandalized. “The only reason you won that challenge is because for some fucking crazy reason, Agron remembers the name of your fucking first school crush. Who names their kid Daniel anyway?”

“A ton of people,” Agron scoffs, glancing back at Duro, “And it wasn’t just a school crush. Daniel was Nasir’s first boyfriend.”

“Riveting.” Duro deadpans, glancing between them. 

“He was the first boy to hold my hand!” Nasir defends, smacking at Duro’s knee, “And fuck you. You’re just butt hurt we have won every boyfriend challenge you have given us.”

“You don’t have a better relationship!” Duro tries to kick at Nasir, only missing because Agron moves his arm to block him. 

"They don't," Auctus sooths, wrapping an arm around Duro's shoulders, easing him back. “We're the best, bambi.”

Duro doesn’t miss the look shared between the couple in the front seat, rolled eyes and disbelief, nor Agron shaking his head at Nasir. It’s a clear dismissal. 

"You know what, I'll prove it.” Duro slams his palm into the back of Nasir’s seat, “I asked my followers a while ago for some questions they wanted answered, and I'm gonna see if you guys can answer all of them about each other." Duro laughs, “We'll make it a game. Harder than any of the others.”

“I’m sure Auctus has heard that lie before,” Agron mutters, smirking when Nasir nearly tips his coffee over from laughing so hard. 

“Fuck you!” Duro kicks hard into the back of Agron’s chair, both brothers yelling as Agron waves his arm, pointing to the road in front of him. 

“Watch it, asshat. Do you want to fucking die?” 

“Learn how to fucking drive then,” Duro snips back, giving one last kick. 

“Duro, I swear to god, I will pull this truck over-“ Agron growls, glaring at his brother in the rearview mirror. He’s calmed midsentence though as Nasir reaches out, gently petting over his thigh. They share a glance, through tinted glass and Agron’s nostrils flair but he turns back to the road with a huff. 

“Let's make it a wager,” Nasir turns back to Duro, “If we win, you have to promise to let us have a day off before we start working. A whole day without looking in the lodge, talking about the lodge, nothing. We can do whatever we want.”

“Fine, but if we win, you have to give us your blow up mattress and you have to work when and where I say.” Duro shrugs, ego boastful as he nods. He is sure they're going to win. Agron and Nasir just fuck all the time. How could they possibly know everything about each other?

“Alright, lay it on us bro,” Agron grins slightly, another glance aimed towards Nasir, “We're ready for this.” 

“Alright, first question. Nasir, what is Agron's favorite color?” Duro asks, figuring he might as well start easy. 

“Red, actually, it's more of a crimson.” Nasir lounges back against the passenger door, stretching his legs out until his toes press to Agron's thigh. 

“That's true.” Agron nods. He casually strokes his fingers along the buckles across Nasir’s booted ankles, toying with the silver metal.

“What's Nasir's worst fear?” Duro continues, scrolling through his Twitter feed.

“Being completely sense deprived. He can handle it if it's one or two, but not all of them.” Agron replies, not even bothering to pause as he switches the radio off. Nasir nods, grinning behind the rim of his coffee. 

“What is one thing about Agron that no one else knows?” Duro starts, and then cuts in before Nasir can answer, “And it can't be sexual.”

“A thing no knows that can't be sexual?” Nasir repeats, tapping his lid thoughtfully before replying, “He has a tiny scar on his eyebrow that he tells everyone is from getting in a fist fight with some drunk guys. It's actually from one time when we were running late and I tossed him the truck keys. He missed and caught them with his face instead.”

“What? You told me in graphic detail how you defended some poor guy from a whole bunch of assholes,” Auctus kicks the back of Agron's chair, much to the man’s chagrin. “You made it sound like some fucking movie.”

“Nasir felt bad so I didn't want to tell people he beamed me in the face with like a pound of keys,” Agron laughs, squeezing Nasir's ankle reassuringly as the younger man begins to pout. “It was my fault we were late anyways.”

“You had stitches!” Duro looks up from adjusting the view on his camera. “I distinctly remember you having stitches and talking about how the assholes had only gotten in one good shot.”

“Technically, I did only get hit once. There was so much blood and the cut was so fucking tiny,” Agron groans, shaking his head. “The doctors in the ER thought I had killed someone and was coming to confess.”

“I'm still sorry for that.” Nasir sighs, pouting a little. “I really thought you were looking.”

“Don't be sorry. That happened like ages ago, and besides, you made it up to me,” Agron smirks at him, twisting the laces of Nasir’s boots idly around his finger. “Duro keep going.”

He knows it’s still a sore spot for Nasir. Neither one of them have ever hurt each other before, never physically. Even when they play wrestle or play fight, it’s conscious of each other’s boundaries. Agron had vowed a long time ago, back when he was still new to Nasir (barely dating really), that his past – the cage fighting, the underground fight clubs, the violence – would stay separate from Nasir. It was over the minute Nasir decided to stay. 

“Okay, Agron, this is a tough one.” Duro pauses his scrolling to read. “What is Nasir's least favorite thing about your body?”

“My left foot,” Agron answers instantly, glancing over at Nasir for confirmation. 

“What? How is that a thing?” Auctus asks, looking between the two, “That was totally made up.”

“No, he's right. It’s the foot he leaves outside of the covers and then presses against my calves in the morning when he's cold.” Nasir grumbles, kicking Agron’s thigh lightly with his boots, “Thus waking me up with frozen legs.”

“I'm sorry baby. You are just so hot,” Agron smirks, laughing when Nasir pokes him again, shaking his head at the horrible pun. Turning to glance at Duro over his shoulder, Agron continues. “I thought you said this was going to be hard?”

“I’m just warming you up,” Duro defends, trying to keep the petulance out of his tone. Most of the tweets aimed towards the Q&A are dirty, some of them down right lewd (Have you ever watched Agron and Nasir fuck? Is Auctus into ass play? What sex toys do you own?), but Duro supposes if he wants to win, he may just have to resort to them.

“Fine, you want hard? Nasir, what was Agron’s first words to you? Agron, how many times has Nasir told you he’s loved you? Nasir, what is the most valuable thing in Agron’s life?” Duro shouts them rapid fire, panting slightly when he pauses to scroll through his Twitter again. 

“Agron’s first words to me was when I was painting the mural at the gym,” Nasir pipes up, “and he asked me if I needed a stool or a ladder because he wasn’t sure how a ‘little guy’ like me was going to reach up by the ceiling.”

“Nasir has told me he loves me one thousand, seven hundred and ninety-eight times,” Agron shrugs, shifting a little in his seat, “that is not counting dirty talk. If we are counting during sex, then it is two thousand, three hundred and forty-two.”

“You know how many times I’ve said I love you to you?” Nasir coos, scooting around to reach his fiancé, peppering the side of his face with kisses when Agron bashfully nods. 

“It’s important to me,” Agron murmurs, stealing a quick peck before he turns his eyes back on the road. 

“Most valuable thing in his life is family,” Nasir murmurs, ignoring Duro’s gagging noises in the back. "And his protein shakes."

With a disbelieving cry, Agron playfully shoves Nasir away, sticking his tongue out and grumbling something about his deep, natural love for his Nutri-bullet. He got it on sale at Target and it's been through some serious tough times with him. 

It settles down for some time, Duro grumbling as he quickly flicks through his Twitter and Tumblr, trying to find a reasonable question - something that will really stump the men before him. Auctus doses against the window, pulling a thick blanket over his chest and pointedly ignores his boyfriend. Up front, Agron continues to drive, radio off and arm leaning out the window. Nasir curls back up in his seat, knees to his chest and coffee clutched tightly in his fists. He’s coyly trying to angle his phone away from where Agron can peek, flipping idly through Pinterest boards filled with table designs. 

“Alright, assholes." Duro calls out, leaning forward between the seats, "I found the perfection question for you. Agron, what is Nasir's ultimate favorite sex position?” Duro bites out, crossing his arms. He’s still dead set on winning the game, regardless of ruining the sweet moment before him. Agron isn’t one to really talk about their sex life, more showcasing it then discussing, so Duro figures he won’t be willing to disclose such personal information about his fiancé. 

“It's a tie between the suspended congress and teaspoons,” Agron glances in the rear view at Duro's expecting face, not even hesitating to answer. “He also really likes lap dance but only if I help lift him.”

“Wha-What?” Duro turns to look at Auctus' equally confused face. “What the fuck is that?”

“What do you guys own a copy of the gay kama sutra?” Auctus asks bewildered enough to pull himself from dozing. He considers himself a pretty knowledgeable guy, been around the block a few times, but he has no idea what that is. 

“Google it.” Nasir laughs, ignoring them while they fumble in the back to get the iPad back out, bickering between them. Instead, he crawls over until he's knelt up against the console, reaching over to slide his hand along Agron's thigh, fingertips teasing along the seam. 

“You know, it's a real shame they couldn't take their own car.” Nasir purrs in Agron's ears, licking the lob lightly. From the backseat, he probably looks like he’s just trying to snuggle against Agron’s side, hiding his from incase Auctus or Duro looks up. 

“Duro's Lexus would never make it out on the back roads,” Agron shakes his head, playing ignorant. Inside his jeans, his cock twitches when Nasir exhales across his neck. “And Auctus' truck is in the shop. You know that.”

“I know, but I really want to blow you right now.” Nasir's hand slides down between Agron's thighs, rubbing the heel of his hand along his cock. It's half hard, pressing up against the zipper, and Nasir’s laugh is husky as he drags his fingers back and forth. 

“I'm driving,” Agron chokes out, using all of his control to concentrate on the road. “and I've got another six hours of it.” 

“Oh,” Nasir's voice dips, breathing the words straight into Agron's ear, “I guess I shouldn't distract the driver then, huh? Shouldn't tell you how hot and wet my throat would be wrapped around your cock? Remind you, if we were alone right now, I could just pull you out and suck you down.”

“Nasir,” Agron's voice is gravel, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “God, you are a fucking tease.” 

“I'm still loose from last night,” Nasir answers, nuzzling his nose along the curve of Agron's ear, “You fucked me so hard, babe. I can still feel you, feel how deep you were. You know I love it when you leave me aching, sore for days until you fuck me again.”

Nasir's hand keeps going, stroking Agron through the rough denim as one of his rings keeps catching on his zipper. It's not fucking fair when Nasir's voice gets like this, straight fucking liquid sex that lights Agron up. It gets him going every time, and Agron can barely focus on anything but Nasir's hands on him, his breath against his throat. 

"I just want to taste you," Nasir whispers, teeth nipping at the lobe, "Wrap my lips around the crown just like you like, suck you nice and slow until you can't take it. Wrap your fingers in my hair and make me take it - fuck my throat until you come. Let me swallow it all down."

"Fuck," Agron gasps, glancing in the rearview mirror, relieved that Duro and Auctus are still absorbed in the iPad. He wants nothing more than to reach down and unzip, let Nasir wrap his warm palm around him. 

“Or maybe you just want me to finger myself in my seat? Show you how much I need you? You know Duro and Auctus won’t notice. Only you’ll be able to see,” Nasir goads, smirking when Agron growls, deep in his chest. "It's not as good though. My fingers aren't as long or as thick. Can't reach that perfect spot inside of me. No, that’s just for you."

“There is no fucking way you can pick Nasir up like that,” Duro calls suddenly from the back, glancing up at the pair, “No way.”

“We're stopping for gas!” Agron jerks the truck onto an exit, the swerving of the vehicle knocking Nasir into his seat with a peal of laughter. Agron is so fucking hard he doesn’t even care that four cars behind him lay on the horn. 

The gas station is small, corrugated sheet metal lining three of the sides while the front is all streaked glass. It has old, rusty signs for gas, food, and beer hanging along the windows, screen door half hanging on a hinge. The pumps seem to be in working order though the awning covering them is sloped and cracked on the corners. 

“We can't stop here,” Auctus squints in the growing sunlight, “It doesn't even look like it's open.”

“Or has been open in the past fifty years,” Duro mutters, slipping from the seat and onto the dirt packed road. “This looks like something straight out of a Rob Zombie film. If Captain Spaulding is behind the counter, I'm leaving you fucking idiots here.”

“It looks open to me,” Agron turns from guiding Nasir down from the truck, pointing to the open door. He feels Nasir press against his side, hips digging into his thigh as Nasir's arms circle his waist. Glancing down at him, Agron doesn't miss the coy little smirk nor the fingers tracing his belt. 

“Duro! Fill the tank,” Agron tosses him the keys, beginning to lead Nasir around the building, following the large restroom sign. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Duro calls out, looking bewildered between the couple and Auctus. 

“We have to pee!” Nasir calls over his shoulders, waving his hand.

They barely get the ply wood door open before Agron is slamming Nasir against the wall, kissing him hard. The whole structure shakes from the force of it, but neither of them really notice. Agron presses fully against him, rolling his hips as his teeth bite and suck at Nasir's tongue, slipping further into his mouth. He wants it now, wants to feel Nasir's body against his, bare and trembling as Agron shoves inside, finding completion in the wet heat. 

“Fuck baby, the shit you say. Such a pretty, dirty mouth,” Agron hisses, moving his mouth along Nasir's jaw to his neck, biting into the skin, “You want it bad huh?”

“Yeah, so bad,” Nasir gasps, eyes fluttering up to stare at the ceiling as the tension grows between them. 

There is a strange water mark in the back corner of the bathroom, black and oozing slime down the chipboard wall. It seems to cling in the corners of the tiny room as well. Nasir follows the track of it with his eyes, recoiling when he spots a large hole carved out in the wood by the toilet, padded around the opening with duct tape. Did they seriously find a glory hole in the middle of nowhere? 

Staring at it, Nasir can see through to the crab grass outside, the yellow strands scorched in the summer sun have now shriveled as it turns towards fall. Nasir can't even imagine someone kneeling out there, letting some back roads hillbilly fuck his throat. Is that even a thing? Nasir goes through his checklist of kinks and no, that is definitely not on there.

“Nasir,” Agron pulls back, eyebrows furrowed, “What is it?”

“What?” Nasir blushes guiltily as he snaps his attention back to his fiancé. 

“You just stopped responding,” Agron motions towards where he has Nasir's pants open, half pulled down his legs. He’s half hard, the line of his cock pressed against the cotton of his briefs. “Do you not want to do this? We don't have to.”

“No, no of course not babe. I want you. I always want you.” Nasir raises on his toes to pull Agron into a kiss, dragging his teeth along Agron's bottom lip, “Fuck me. Come on.”

Agron growls at the words, roughly pulling his sweater up to get his pants open. The place is small, too tiny to really lay Nasir out and have him, but Agron can work with it. They've had quickies before in even tighter spots. And really, Agron only needs a foot to get it in and thrust, press Nasir right up against the wall. 

Staring over Agron's shoulder, Nasir takes in the rest of the bathroom. The toilet is rusty around the pipes, leaning crooked and the sink sags forward. It probably would spill water onto someone's feet, given that the taps even work. Also, graffiti is scratched into the mirror, a slew of demon symbols and names. It's generic bathroom stuff, and yet something about the dim light bulb overhead and the claustrophobic feeling of the place gives Nasir goosebumps, digging his fingers tighter into Agron's back, arms hooked around his neck. 

“Babe,” Agron grunts into Nasir's ear, “Babe, I know we're kind of into the choking thing, but I seriously can't breathe.”

“Shit! Sorry!” Nasir immediately releases Agron, falling back against the wall, “Sorry!”

“What is up with you?” Agron pulls back, eyes tracking over Nasir's face. 

“I-” Nasir flounders, glancing around again, “It's not that I don't want to. It's just...It's creepy in here.”

“What?” 

Agron looks around, taking in the tiny room for the first time. He does kind of have a point. The red spray painted “Death Comes for You” sign above Nasir's head isn't really helping to set the mood, nor is the way the whole place kind of smells like sewage and old sweat. 

“I mean, look,” Nasir points to the hole, watching Agron cringe, “it looks like a glory hole from the nineteen fifties.”

“Yeah,” Agron drags the word out, “I can see that. Could be sexy though right? I could put on a Southern twang and pretend to be some farm hand happening upon you, unable to resist your Southern Belle charms.”

“No," Nasir replies flatly, wrinkling his nose, "That thing could give you fucking tetanus. And I am not playing Scarlett O’Hara to your Rhett Butler."

"Babe," Agron groans, dragging his cock, sticky and hot along Nasir's thigh, "Are we doing this or not?"

"I just-" Nasir hesitates, unable to shake the eerie feeling even though Agron feels so fucking good against him, "Someone has scratched a demon circle into the mirror.” Nasir points out. 

“Is that what that is? Huh. Looks pretty spot on, look at the details in the symbols.” Agron squints in the dim light. “Do you think they tried to summon some truck stop demon? Maybe he lives in the toilet and bites the asses of all the sinners.”

“You're an ass.” Nasir wiggles his skinny jeans back up his hips, buttoning them closed. “I promise I'll make it up to you, but I seriously don't want to be in here anymore."

"Alright, come on."

Agron pushes the door back open and they stumble out. The sun and fresh air make it feel like they've just entered a whole new world, back to the world of the living as the bathroom door slams shut. Turning away from the main road, Agron uses the opportunity of his pants being open to just urinate on the grass, laughing at Nasir's outraged face. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, horrified. “You can't just whip it out whenever you want! What if someone sees? You could be arrested for this.”

“There is no way I'm going in there again,” Agron shrugs, shaking off before zipping back up his pants. “And no one is around. I could probably just pull you down into this ditch right now and have my wicked way with you and no one would know.” 

“I would know! And I’m not getting down there where the locals probably get their ditch weed. You’re such a barbarian,” Nasir shakes his head but he allows Agron to pull him over, kissing a line down his nose. 

“I'm your barbarian though,” Agron grins at his own cheesy line, loving the way Nasir rolls his eyes but blushes. 

“Yeah, you are,” Nasir sighs dramatically, “now carry me back to your chariot, you beast.”

“I'm not sure those references matched up, but as you wish.”

Agron bends enough for Nasir to jump on, easily positioning him on his back, arms looped over Agron’s shoulders. It's not the first time this has happened, though usually it comes down to this when Nasir is either too tired or too drunk to stand, though Agron knows Nasir secretly loves it. Nasir's legs are tight around his waist, kissing the shell of his ear as Agron easily walks them out from behind the gas station and towards the truck. 

Even though he's safe, has never been unsafe when he's with Agron, Nasir can't help but have an uneasy feeling about this trip. It seems too easy. The owner just FedExing the keys to Duro, no instructions except they had to keep the fountain in the arboretum intact. It seemed too easy, especially the funds that magically appeared in Duro's bank account the same day he took the job. A million dollars, to be split through the team. It was a hefty price for the restoration. 

\- - - 

It's dark outside now as Nasir navigates the truck through the nearly covered road. The trees loom on either side, casting falling leaves and dark shadows onto the dirt path. The radio is off and the driver's side window is down, blowing cool air across Nasir's face. In the back, Duro and Auctus snore quietly, curled against each out with Auctus' face mushed up against the glass of the window and Duro's knees pressed close to his chest. 

Hunched over the console, pillow cushioning his side from the plastic, Agron rests his head against Nasir's thigh, breath warm and damp against his leg. He had tried to stay awake, keep nodding off but couldn't get comfortable. It wasn't until Agron smacked his temple on the doorframe that Nasir pushed the console back, produced a pillow out of nowhere it seemed, and had guided Agron down with a warm hand on the back of his neck. 

Nasir strokes his fingers lovingly down Agron's jaw, feeling the stubble prick against his finger. He's been doing this for over an hour and his hands are numb, but he doesn't mind. Agron so rarely allows himself to this – to the easy comfort of having someone else take care of him – so when he does, Nasir makes sure he makes the most of it. 

He has Pinterest boards filled with their wedding plans, trying to both encompass Nasir's bohemian style with Agron's kind of 'where it falls is where it's staying' taste. Sometimes, Nasir gets the sinking feeling that Agron doesn't care. That he'd let Nasir do anything he wants and be fine with it, whatever, but then Agron will come out of nowhere with some insight about flowers or the napkin fabric, and maybe a live band is a little classier, and Nasir will be reminded that his lack of caring is really just wanting Nasir to be happy, to have everything he wants. 

It hadn't been hard for Nasir to fall for Agron's quick charm, his dimpled grin, the all-encompassing way he protected and loved his family. They had met through Naevia at the gym that Agron co-owns with Crixus and Spartacus. A Fourth of July barbecue followed where Nasir had worn those cut off jean shorts that showed half his thigh and Agron had been beaming in a red tank top and a grilling apron. Agron had handed him a beer and then Nasir fed him a bite of his pie and by the end of the night, they were curled up together on a lawn chair, giggling and sharing whispering to one another. 

No one even noticed when Agron had slipped his fingers through Nasir’s and led him off, hiding behind where the pool shed met the tall, shrub fence. They rubbed off against each other, Nasir’s shorts caught around his ankle and Agron’s jeans pulled down halfway, silencing each other with biting kisses. The smell of beer and coconut sunscreen had filled the space, tinged later with sweat and salt, and Nasir had watched through half lidded eyes as Agron lapped the seed from his cock with a grin. 

Coffee dates followed and easy conversation. They had bonded over crappy slasher movies, art, and the particular way they thought kitchen cabinets should be arranged. Nasir had never laughed so much in his life, ensnared in the way Agron pronounced his 's's and his love of latte art. Agron had been just as bad, enchanted by Nasir's long eyelashes, his strange pizza choices, the easy way his fingers fit between Agron's. 

A year later, they were engaged, and neither had felt happier, completely enraptured by each other. 

They've just rounded another steep corner on the road when suddenly the trees break and Chevy's headlights beam long and pale onto a large iron fence running parallel to the path before the road stops abruptly. It's old, rusted a tawny red with long spikes on the top and an intricately curved gate hanging open and on its hinges, slightly crooked. Behind it, and up a long drive, the hunting lodge looms out of the darkness, a black silhouette that seems to take up the whole sky. At least, Nasir thinks it's the lodge, though it looks more like a looming castle than somewhere people use to hunt at. 

The lodge must span the length of a football field, round towers on each side rising tall and taller until they peak at a coned roof, a long spike on each. The whole thing is made of stone, old bricks that look black in the moonlight. A thousand windows, dark eyes that glare ominously down at the Chevy as Nasir makes his way up the long drive, inching along carefully, unsure of what could be on the road. 

“Babe,” Nasir murmurs in the silent car, fingers trailing down Agron's jaw, “Agron, I think we're here.”

Agron groans in response, nuzzling into Nasir's thigh before opening his eyes, leaning up to peer out of the window. “Shit. This place is fucking huge.”

“I thought Duro said it was going to be an easy job.” Nasir whispers, pulling the gear shift up into park. “A few nails and screws and some paint? He didn't tell me we were fixing up the Addam's Family house.”

“Don't be so dramatic," Agron yawns, fist rubbing at his eye, "It's more Munster than Addam's. Lurch is probably waiting inside to help you paint all the corners."

Nasir shoots him a withering look, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Wonderful."

"Maybe the inside is still good, just a few days cleaning and some redecorating,” Agron replies, squinting as he stares through the windshield, “Maybe it's not as big as it looks?”

“It's big, Agron. It's fucking huge.” Nasir shakes his head, leaning over the steering wheel to get a closer look. A breeze whips through the woods, scattering leaves, and it feels like the lodge grows taller, darker as the wind moans. “Fuck. There goes our vacation. This place is going to take forever.”

“No baby, come on.” Agron's eyes rove over the lodge's large door, standing at least ten feet tall. He can't seem from this distance, but it looks like it's made of intricately carved wood. “I promised we'd have time for us, and we will. Think of it like a work-cation? Get hot and sweaty to get hot and sweaty?”

“All I know is, I'm tired. I'm hungry. I want to get out of this truck, and I have a kink in my back that I really need to rub out,” Nasir whines, turning the Chevy off. All of his previous hope for this trip ruined at the sight of the large house.

It's already eight and they've only stopped once to eat, a tiny diner on an exit that refused to take the bacon off of Nasir's pancakes so Agron had to pick it off. It hadn't been a big deal except the waitress had glared down at the pair, so much that Agron had kissed Nasir explicitly on purpose, fisting the back of his hair before the woman had toddled off, hissing bible verses under her breath. Spartacus had looked on disapproving, but if it was aimed towards the couple or the woman, Agron didn't know and didn't really care. 

“I can help you rub out any kinks you have,” Agron turns to look at him with a grin, eyes glinting in the light. Soothing with sex, Agron's go to fix all. “I have been told that I have very strong hands.”

“Oh yeah?” Nasir goads, matching his grin. He'd be mad if it weren't so easy to give in, to let Agron soothe with his hands and his mouth. “Wanna help me rub out some spots?”

“Definitely.” Agron leans across the console with a growl, kissing Nasir roughly. They make out for a minute, tongues battling and Nasir sighs, turning more on his hip to wrap his arm around Agron's neck. It's so easy to fall into each other like this, simple pleasure, but the spell is broken as a loud snore erupts from the back seat. Nasir pulls back first, giggling and nipping at Agron's bottom lip playfully.

“We should wake Duro,” he whispers, “set up camp. Spartacus was right behind us.”

“Yeah,” Agron pouts a little, leaning in to peck Nasir's lips, before turning in his seat. Better to get this over now. He slaps his hand down soundly on Duro's thigh, shaking him a little roughly. “Come on, Duro. Your fucking castle awaits.”

“Huh? Wha?” Duro blinks his eyes open, curls sticking up in every direction. He looks around, sitting up from Auctus' lap, before the realization of where they are hits him. He shouts, scrambling to get untangled from his blankets, flinging open the backseat's door. 

“Auctus! Auctus we're here!” he yells, taking off running towards the lodge. It’s pitch black out, and Duro illuminates one long shadow before the headlights.

Sharing an eye roll with Nasir, Agron moves out of the truck to chase his brother. Duro is just going to get himself hurt, running through the dark and onto the porch of the lodge. They don't even know how safe it is. Agron bolts after him, managing to wrestle Duro off the front steps and down onto the soft grass. They tumble, limbs entwined and Duro cries out something, screaming at the top of his lungs. It's enough to startle a group of birds, squawking and flying up towards the glowing moon. Agron's loud laughter follows, managing to pin Duro with his face in the dirt, one arm twisted behind his back. 

“Should we go break them up?” Auctus leans forward, resting his temple on Nasir's shoulder. He looks so tired, hair sticking up everywhere. Nasir pats his cheek gently, feeling the stubble prickle against his palm. 

“Nah, it's kinda hot watching my boyfriend beat your boyfriend's ass.” Nasir replies, grinning at him in the dark. 

“Cruel,” Auctus teases back, nudging Nasir. “You think they would just watch us fight?”

“Probably,” Nasir shrugs, “Duro would get the snacks.”

Auctus snorts, shaking his head. “Who do you think would win then?”

“I don't know. I'm not afraid to fight dirty though. Nails. Biting. Hair pulling.” Nasir opens his door, slipping from the truck, throwing one last comment over his shoulder, “I go for the nuts every time.”

“I know, Agron's told me.” Auctus shouts as Nasir closes the door, getting the bird in reply.

\- - - 

The camp is quiet now. Just the crackle of the fire and the calling of the cicadas to fill the forest air. The lodge looms behind them, a dark reminder of their coming days. The whole yard is fenced in, but beyond that is fifty acres of woods and grass. Apparently, according to old publish records that Pietros had forwarded to them, there was an expansive enclosed garden in the back with a cemetery somewhere on the grounds. 

They set up their tents quickly, stakes deep in the ground and nylon stretched tight, four matching tents in a semi-circle around the blazing fire. Mira and Spartacus went directly to cooking duty while Naevia, Auctus, and Crixus had grabbed extra firewood, scattering to tasks without comment. Agron and Duro unloaded the Chevy, carefully covering power tools and extra supplies, and Nasir, left taskless, migrated from setting up the inside of his tent and glaring at the lodge.

A storm is brewing on the horizon, thunder a distant rumble through the trees and stars slowly slinking out of sight behind massive clouds. The team manages to get everything settled before the wind picks up, a moaning force that shakes the trees and tents. It won't rain yet, but probably deep into the night, yet it puts the team on edge. It’s an anomaly as most of the team had checked the weather before they left and the forecast was clear. 

Duro, having put his main camera to charge on the portable battery in the truck, films the exterior of the house on his iPhone, trying to use a flashlight to see. It seems like half the windows on the bottom floor of the lodge are boarded over, but the glass is still intact. There is a large chain roping over and over the handles on the door, thick and rusted, but the keys were sent over weeks ago. It kind of miffs Duro that Agron has completely forbid him from entering until the sun is up. Duro half thinks it's because he doesn't want to go exploring yet and half because Nasir and him have been all over each other since they got into the truck. It's nothing new. They can never seem to keep their hands to themselves, always having to be touching, hand holding or arms looped around waists.

Even now, Duro glances behind him and sees Agron sitting alone by the fire. He's not bored though, instead, Agron has his eyes trained to his tent. In the dark, Duro can make out Nasir's shadow within the nylon, the lantern inside illuminating him. His shadow moves, dragging his shirt over his head and then dropping his pants. Agron rises from his log, moving to join him, but Duro suddenly dashes over, cutting him off. 

“You wanna make s’mores? Just like when we were little? You used to love s’mores,” Duro beams. He knows Agron has other intentions, probably of joining his little fiancé in their tent and fucking his brains out, but Duro misses his brother. He misses the simple times they used to have, before boyfriends and fiancés and relationships. Back when it was just them. 

“I don't know, man,” Agron shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, “I am kind of tired. Long day of driving and shit.”

“Come on,” Duro bumps their shoulders together, “bro time before hoe time.”

“Don't,” Agron's tone suddenly dips, eyes narrowing, “You know I fucking hate it when you say that shit.”

“I didn't mean anything by it,” Duro grumbles, moving back towards the fire, “You don't have to be so sensitive. Jesus fuck.”

“I'm not, but Duro, come on.” Agron swings back around, following him, “Nasir is my fiancé. As in soon to be husband in like three months. You gotta respect him, and calling him my hoe isn't that great of a start.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Sorry.”

Duro flops down on a log, crossing his legs in front of him. Ever since Agron popped the question, actually, ever since Agron finally got the balls to ask Nasir out, his whole attitude seems to have changed. No longer was Agron the type to drag Duro out to go drinking, just so Agron could do body shots with some of the go-go boys. Instead, Agron wanted to stay home and watch movies with Nasir or go hang out with Nasir while he paints or even worse – take Nasir out to get drinks with them. It seems like they're completely inseparable now. Duro doesn't get it. He loves Auctus but he doesn't need to be around him constantly.

“I promised you we'd have bro time,” Agron ruffles Duro's hair, “but I gotta have Nasir time too.”

“Yeah, sure.” Duro waves noncommittally, unimpressed by Agron’s light tone. 

“Besides, we can all hang out too, ya know? It’s not like we haven’t all lived together for the past eight months,” Agron leans his shoulder against Duro’s, “This who double couple thing has been working, right?”

Duro bites back his vicious comment, instead picking up a stick to poke at the fire. He'll save it, swallow it down until he can get it out to Auctus. Complain to his boyfriend who always kisses away his troubles, reassures him of his importance. 

“Hey,” Spartacus murmurs, seeming to appear out of nowhere. He hunkers down on another log, pulling a bottle of beer out of the cooler, offering both of the brothers one. They both take one, nodding their thanks. 

“It's uh, a little bigger than I expected,” Spartacus motions towards the lodge, “You think we're prepared?”

“There is a town like an hour or so over. If we run out of supplies, we can always go there,” Duro shrugs, twisting off the top of his bottle, “I don't see it taking more than a month.”

“Hopefully not,” Agron laughs, taking a long pull, “who is going to water all my house plants?”

“Guess you'll have to plant more,” Duro sticks his tongue out at his brother, “Your house looks like a jungle anyways. Don’t act like I don’t know what types of plants you grow in the basement. I have a keen sense of smell, you know.”

“Don't hate. You're staying with me for free until your house gets finished,” Agron punches his brother's shoulder, “Show some fucking respect.”

“I’m just saying,” Duro shrugs, “getting stoned and then fucking in the backyard is kinda dangerous, man. What if the neighbors saw?”

“We weren’t fucking in the backyard,” Agron scoffs, shaking his head, “We were in the pool and we built that eight-foot fence so the neighbors can’t see us, remember?”

“How is that going, by the way? The house building?” Spartacus interjects, taking another pull of his beer. “Are they almost done?”

“We've had some minor setbacks, flooring and piping issues, but I'm hoping mid-September?” Duro replies, ignoring Agron’s deep sigh as he continues, “It’s a process, ya know? We had to tear the old house down nearly to the foundation and then rebuild. It takes time.”

“Oh, are we talking about the house situation?” Nasir suddenly appears behind Agron, wrapping his arms over his fiancé’s shoulders and leaning on his back. 

“Yeah. The contractors seem to be taking an awful long time though. Didn't you guys start work on in March?” Spartacus asks, shaking his head. “Seems kinda long. The funding is there, right?”

“No, definitely. We have the money.” Duro agrees, keeping the conversation going. “It’s just a big project. As soon as we finish this one, there should be no reason why we can’t finish it up.”

Beside him, Agron leans his head back onto Nasir's shoulder, smiling at him. Nasir's hair is down and he's wearing a thin, long sleeves shirt and sweatpants, hem bunched around his boots. The sleeves of his shirt are so long they fold over his hands, collar dipping down to show off his collarbones. 

“Hey you,” Agron beams, nuzzling his nose against Nasir's jaw, “Is this mine?” He pinches the loose fabric on Nasir's shoulder, grinning at him. 

“Yeah,” Nasir nods, hiding a yawn in Agron's shoulder, “It's warm.” He loops the red fabric back over his wrists, freeing his hands.

“If you were cold, you could have told me. I could have gotten you a blanket or something.” Agron reaches back to gently massage the back of Nasir's head, fingers curling in his hair. 

“They're all in the tent,” Nasir replies, arms tightening around Agron's shoulders. He's nearly sprawled over Agron's back and shoulder, nuzzling the tip of his cold nose into the warm crease of Agron's neck. 

“Baby, if you're tired, you can go to bed.” Agron guides Nasir over, pulling him against his side on the log and wrapping his arm around Nasir's shoulder, “I'll be in in a while. Duro wants to me to stay up a bit with him.”

“I just came out to have a cigarette and say goodnight,” Nasir mumbles, blinking tiredly up at Agron before leaning up for a kiss. 

Agron presses against him chastely, stroking the side of his head. Sleepy like this, Nasir is all cold skin and drowsy eyes, lips caressing up against Agron's, slowly opening when Agron licks across them. He tastes like toothpaste, mint sharp in Agron's mouth, and he chases it, lapping at the roof of Nasir's mouth when he gasps. He's tuned out of Spartacus and Duro's conversation when suddenly a line strikes him, pulling him out of his Nasir induced fog. 

“Yeah. I like thirty or forty boys lived here,” Duro nods, “All ages. It was kind of undesirable, orphan type thing. People just left their sons. From what I got off some chat rooms, a man owned the place and let soldiers crash here during the war. Some tragic accident happened here too.”

“What?” Nasir pulls away from Agron, staying against his side, but whipping his head around. 

“Oh, I was just explaining to Sparty what this place used to be,” Duro shrugs, taking another swig of his beer, motioning with the bottle, “It was a lodge and then it was turned into an orphanage slash boarding school for boys like back in the early 1900s. No one really kept up on regulations or anything and they were kinda forgotten out here.”

“What happened to them?” Agron asks, arm tightening around Nasir's shivering shoulders. 

“I don't know. Pietros said there was some tragedy here, a suicide and murders and shit, but he told me he'd give me the details when he got here. This place is supposed to be pretty haunted.” Duro grins at Nasir's horrified face, “Aw, Nasir, you scared?”

“No, I just didn't realize how dark this place was going to be.” Nasir mutters, turning his gaze up to the lodge again, frowning. He wouldn't necessarily consider himself a fanatic, but Nasir would say that he's superstitious - to a fault at times. 

“Oh yeah,” Duro continues, “Lots of history here. There is supposed to be a little cemetery somewhere on the grounds too filled with the bodies of the lodge’s victims. It's an old building though, so it's kind of to be expected. People who have come out here have heard screams and slamming doors, footsteps, and children laughing on the grounds. They also have seen a few boys running around too, covered in blood and chanting.”

“Duro, that's enough.” Agron cuts in, noticing Nasir's now tight grip on his hand. “This place is just an old man's trophy. We'll slap some paint on it and bounce. No ghosts and no bulllshit.”

“Yeah but just imagine. We could make a fortune. Did anyone check the door for graffiti,” Duro suddenly stands, using his beer bottle as a microphone, “I'm Duro Geiszler and this is Grave Encounters.”

"Hardy fucking har," Agron swats at Duro's thigh, jostling Nasir next to him. "Nothing is wrong with this house that we can't fix. And unless these ghosts wanna help hold a hammer or a paintbrush, they can stay the fuck away from us."

Duro rolls his eyes, waving his beer bottle around. "We could make a ton of money, real ghosts caught on film. Probably have to sacrifice Nasir first though. You know the couple that fucks during the horror movie dies first."

“Who says we’re going to fuck?” Nasir raises an eyebrow, gently tugging the beer away from Agron to take a drink. 

“You do realize that I’ve been living with you, right?” Duro smirks, self-satisfied and sure. “It’s not like you make it a challenge.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nasir waves off Agron’s cutting in, leaning towards Duro. 

“Don’t get pissy.” Duro sighs, put upon, “I’m not making fun of you. I just know you’re easy. It wasn’t exactly a secret, considering how you and Agron started off.”

“Excuse me?” Nasir bristles, mouth curling into a scowl. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Duro, shut the fuck up.” Agron wraps his fingers tighter around Nasir’s shoulder, holding him down and back against his side. 

“What?” Duro turns exasperated towards his brother, waving his hands. “Don’t get mad at me just because I’m pointing out the obvious. Nasir is a little slutty. You like it. So what’s the problem? It only counts if this place is really haunted. You know ghosts only really go for the one willing to spread their legs.”

“Fuck off,” Nasir snaps, standing up abruptly. His legs tremble, barely being able to contain himself and the anger that rests hot and acidic in the back of his throat. “I'm going to bed.” He shoves the beer bottle into Agron’s chest, spinning on his heel and heading back towards the tents.

“Babe, wait,” Agron tries to reach out for him, but Nasir moves away, arms tight over his chest. 

“Oh, come on!” Duro calls after him, “I was kidding! Nothing bad is gonna happen. You're short enough, they'll probably think you're one of the boys and leave you alone. Besides, aren't all boarding school boys gay for each other? You could get in on a ghost orgy! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Duro, for fucks sake!” Agron smacks Duro roughly on the side of the head, glare furious as he turns to jog after Nasir, lightly patting Spartacus' back on his way. 

He manages to catch Nasir halfway behind the tents, standing and staring up at the front of the lodge. Nasir has lit his cigarette, and the smoke curls up from his mouth in a slow gray trail, filling the air with the sharp scent of Marlboros. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he doesn't release them when Agron wraps his arms around him from behind, kissing the neck. He’s too tense, jaw clicking shut and grinding every time he exhales.

“I'm sorry,” Agron murmurs, holding Nasir tightly, “Duro's a dick. You know he just runs his fucking mouth.”

“That's always your excuse for him,” Nasir bites out, ashing his cigarette to the side. 

Agron sighs, nudging his forehead against Nasir's jaw. “I know. I'm sorry. I will talk to him.”

Nasir scoffs quietly, shaking his head. He’s heard this so many times that it has gone stale. Nasir loves Agron, loves him so much, but sometimes it feels like they’re constantly at battle over this. Nasir isn’t sure what he’s done to Duro to gain such hostility, but it’s never ending. 

“I don't like it here,” Nasir mutters, cutting Agron's apology off, suddenly feeling too exhausted to fight, “I don't. I have a weird feeling about this place and your fucking brother's attitude isn't helping.”

“Like your weird feelings about juice cleanses or your weird feelings about that closet in Naevia's house?” Agron asks, fingers massaging at Nasir's tense shoulders. Nasir relaxes back against him, taking another long draw of his cigarette. He doesn't usually smoke, only when he's stressed or right after a long, and very thorough round of sex. 

“I just feel like we're not supposed to be here. Like something bad is gonna happen,” Nasir murmurs, eyes scanning the upper windows of the lodge. “Don't you ever feel like that? When you accidentally walk into the wrong room or the wrong meeting? And everyone turns to you and you know they know you don't belong. We don't belong here.”

“Baby, no one is here but us.” Agron reassures, pecking Nasir's cheek. 

“No,” Nasir shakes his head, eyes growing wider as he tries to take in the whole building, “We're not. This place isn't right. Something is going to happen. I know it.”

“Nasir,” Agron gently guides his jaw back, bumping their noses together, “you know I'm never going to let anything bad happen to you. I'd do whatever it takes to keep you safe. It just looks creepy because it's dark and we're tired. You'll see. The sun will come up and you'll be marveling at all the early century fixtures and the oak banister.”

“But-” Nasir starts earnestly, shaking his head, but Agron cuts him off, pressing their lips together. He doesn't mean to be rude, but Agron wants to reassure him, to take his mind off of what it's imagining, tilting his head and kissing him deeply. Nasir wants to say something, wants to continue but Agron is so unfair with the way he touches, fingers tight in Nasir's hair and his teeth scrapping teasingly at Nasir's bottom lip. He completely forgets about what he was going to say as Agron turns him, tongue pressing rough and so fucking perfect inside of his mouth. 

“Are you trying to distract me with sex?” Nasir drags his teeth over his bottom lip, chasing the taste of Agron’s mouth across his own.

“Is it working?” Agron’s breath is warm on his face, grinning when Nasir nods, leaning up to press their lips together again. 

“Let me take you to bed,” Agron growls, pulling back far enough to take a drag of Nasir's cigarette, sharing the smoke between them. Nasir sucks it down, dazed at how fast he can go from angry and scared to turned on. Agron has that special power. 

“Yeah,” Nasir agrees, nodding slightly as he nibbles on his bottom lip. The grin Agron gives him in purely lascivious. 

They stumble into their tent, Nasir flopping down on the thick blanketing while Agron works on getting his sweater off, undoing his jeans with one hand. There is an overturned crate next to their bed with a battery powered lantern on it and it casts Agron's shadow as one long line, cut thick against the shadows.

Nasir lets his eyes roam freely over Agron's exposed skin, licking his lips when the thick line of his cock is revealed, pressing up obscenely against the spandex of his boxer briefs. Agron catches the look and smirks, rubbing his hand over it, stroking it through the fabric. A pearl of precome dampens the front and Nasir spreads his legs on top of the blankets, grin faltering as he tries to hold back his moan. 

“You're sorely over dressed, babe.” Agron growls, coming to pounce on top of Nasir, pressing him back against the blankets and kissing his mouth roughly. He pins Nasir's hands up by his head, holding him immobile as his tongue presses deep, tracing circles over the roof of Nasir's mouth. It smothers Nasir, who whines high and needy, thighs gripping Agron's powerful hips. Agron only relents when he pulls back to grin down at Nasir, sinister promise of more.

“Fuck. Take it off.” Nasir moans, letting Agron's hand wrap around the back of his neck, lead him up so they can both work the long sleeves over Nasir's head, tossing his shirt to the side. His sweats are trickier, ties getting tangled as four hands work on them, and Agron tugs hard enough the knot sticks but let’s enough breath way out for him to yank them down Nasir's hips. 

There is no reason to rush, but neither seem to be able to slow down as Agron keeps his hand firm on the back of Nasir's neck, holding him from the blankets as he trails his tongue down Nasir's neck, biting into his shoulder. It causes Nasir's hands to scramble up Agron's back, nails digging in. He uses his grip as momentum to rolls his hips up, grinding against Agron's cock. It's been a building pressure all day, the need for completion dulling everything else. 

“Shit babe,” Agron groans, hands sliding down Nasir's side to grip his ass, holding him up and hard against him. “Do that again.”

“Fuck yeah,” Nasir voice trembles as they rearrange themselves, Agron sitting back on his heels so Nasir can properly straddle his lap. It presses their cocks together, fabric too thick of a barrier to get perfect friction but a teasing scrape that drives them both insane. Agron briefly considers how mad Nasir would be if he just ripped his briefs off, reaching for them when he's suddenly startled out of his lust induced stupor by the loud unzipping of the tent door. 

Both men turn to look, Nasir flushed and gaping as suddenly Duro bounds inside, shirtless with his jeans buttoned. He doesn't even look guilty for finding them in such a compromising position, instead, Duro's ocher eyes travel down the length of their bodies, mischievous smirk pulling across his face. 

“Hey! Are you guys busy?” He winks down at Nasir who returns it with a sneer, eyes narrowing. 

Very slowly and carefully, Agron pushes Nasir back from him, setting him down against the pillows before turning to his brother. All of the arguments, the catty responses Nasir has been throwing his way, the screaming matches that Agron has walked in on; they all kind of make sense now considering that Duro has sat down on their tarp covered floor, easily lounging back against one of their duffle bags. It's not like Agron doesn't love Duro. He does, above everyone else (except Nasir, of course), but there is a time and a place – and Duro needs to learn both clearly. 

“What do you want?” Nasir asks, surprisingly void of any emotion as he pulls back on his shirt, the red fabric pooling in his lap to hide his now dying erection. Agron silently mourns the loss of all that bronze skin, turning his stormy expression back to his brother. 

“I came to ask you guys if you had any condoms. We apparently forgot them or can't find them in our bags.” Duro shrugs, picking randomly at a hangnail. 

“We don't have any.” Agron replies, valiantly attempting to keep his hard on. He can see the annoyance taking over Nasir, ruining the previous heat between them. “Go ask Spartacus and Mira.”

“What do you mean you don't have any? You guys were clearly going to fuck,” Duro motions towards them, “I just need one. I'll give you one back when we find ours. Come on!”

“Seriously, we don't have any,” Agron repeats himself, feeling Nasir shift next to him, clearly annoyed. 

“But-” Duro starts again only for Nasir to cut him off. 

“We don't have any. We don't use them. I don't think we've ever used them, even the first time when your brother blew me in the shower at the gym.” Nasir throws up his hands, patience gone. “Thinking about it - nope. I'm pretty sure we didn't. I distinctly remember Agron feeding me-”

Agron quickly wraps his hand over Nasir's mouth, silencing him at Duro's horrified face. As open as they are about their relationship (and nearly all of their friends have walked in on them fucking at least once) Agron feels like there are some things they just don't need to know. 

“But what if you get something? Like catch something? Safe sex is important sex,” Duro gapes at them. 

“What do you mean if we catch something?” Agron asks, ignoring the insults Nasir clearly spews behind his palm, rolling his eyes. 

“Uh, diseases are transferred by bodily fluid,” Duro snarks, shaking his head. “You could give each other stuff if you're not careful.”

“Not if we're-” Agron glances at Nasir and then back at Duro, “You do know how STDs work, right?”

“For fucks sake,” Nasir mutters, licking Agron's palm grossly before yanking away and flopping onto the pillows. “I'm not going to stay awake for you to give your twenty-four-year-old brother a sex ed talk. Goodnight.” He promptly rolls over, turning his back to both boys abruptly. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Duro moves as if he's going to tug Nasir back over, but Agron intercedes the motion, blocking his path. 

Taking a deep breath, Agron tries for his most placating and genuine grin. “Go back to your tent, Duro. Just rub off on each other or something, okay? Be creative. Figure it out.”

“But-“ Duro tries, only for Agron’s dimples to disappear and his brow to furrow. He knows that Duro is just doing it for annoyance value now. He's made his goal though as Nasir huffs again loudly. 

“Now, Duro!”

Agron waits patiently until he can't hear his brother's footsteps anymore, slowly zipping back up the tent before he turns to look at his fiancé. Nasir is curled up on his side, shirt risen up over his hip. His briefs have risen up a bit, the crease of his ass and thigh looking soft. Agron has pressed his mouth there before, bit until a bruise has bloomed, but he doubts he could get away with it now - Nasir's labored breath sounding angrier than inviting. 

"Baby," Agron sing songs, sliding across the silk sleeping back. He doesn't touch Nasir yet, has to placate before he tries anything so forward. 

"Go to sleep, Agron." Nasir bites out, fingers flexing on the pillow next to him. Agron doesn't miss the splatter of goosebumps on the backs of Nasir's thighs, nor the way his legs spread slightly as he shifts his weight. 

"Don't be mad," Agron lays down slowly, curves his body along the shape of Nasir's, not quiet touching. "He's gone now. Forget about Duro."

"If only it were that easy," Nasir mutters nastily, pausing when he feels Agron's fingertips on his thigh. They drag up slow, a tantalizing line that sparks little bites of pleasure. Nasir wants to shove him away, hate the easy way his body responds, but Nasir has been drowning in Agron for so long it's more addiction to the love than anything else. 

"Don't let him ruin our night," Agron's breath is hot down the length of Nasir's neck, "We've been waiting for this all day. I know you've been aching for it, thinking about how it feels for me to be deep, _so fucking deep_ , inside of you."

"You don't play fair," Nasir gasps, relaxes back into Agron's grip when his hand moves under his shirt, palm a heavy, warm weight on his chest. "I want to be mad at you."

Agron thinks about it for a second, considers how well this could turn out, before he grips Nasir's hips tightly, pulling him on top. With a groan, Nasir straddles him, eyes dark with his hair cascading around his cheeks. Agron muses it further when he yanks the shirt over his head, leaving Nasir half naked and flushed. 

"Then be mad," Agron plants his feet, arching his hips up to grind against Nasir's ass, a tease of friction and he's rewarded with Nasir's cock twitching, encased in the scarlet fabric of his briefs. "Take it out on me."

Nasir's brow wrinkles, hands restlessly rubbing up and down Agron's chest, palms dragging across a nipple on purpose. He's not really sure what Agron is purposing until Agron grins that wolfish grin of his, teeth sharp and dimples dark. They get like this sometimes, desperate and violent, digging into each other until Agron makes it all better, turns bites into marks of affection, holds Nasir down just to breathe the air back into his lungs. 

It's a scramble then, eager hands yank down fabric, mouths pressed tightly until they can't breathe. Nasir's nail dig into Agron's chest when Agron arches up, lifts Nasir off the ground to reach behind him and grab the lube. 

"Fuck," Nasir groans, thighs spread wide across Agron's lap. He feels too hot, nylon tent walls and the sticky satin of the sleeping bag against his calves. He can barely breathe, fingers scrambling on the roof to yank the vent open. It's really just a cloth covering over netting, but it lets the cool night air in - gives himself a chance to gasp.

"Someone will hear," Agron groans, guides Nasir's hips forward, grips his ass. 

"Let them fucking hear," Nasir snaps, a rare lack of concern. Usually he's the one trying to bite pillows, hiding his face in Agron's chest. 

Grinning, Agron corkscrews two fingers into Nasir, holds the side of his face and kisses him gently to combat the pain. He'll never get over it, Nasir's smile when he's spread wide, his eyelashes fluttering sharply over his dark gaze. It's hypnotic, the curve of Nasir's waist, the fullness of his ass against Agron's ribs. 

"Need you," Nasir murmurs, squirming until he feels Agron's cock against the inside of his thigh. He doesn't want to wait, doesn't want the preparation. He wants the curling heat, the filling and filling and the wind knocked from his lungs because he can't breathe until Agron is all the way in. The blankness of mind when Nasir knows that Agron has him, completely, all consuming. 

"Okay baby. It's alright." Agron leans up, stomach muscles flexed tight as his hands grip Nasir's hips. "I've got you."

He guides him up, peppers biting kisses into Nasir's neck when he helps him down, inch after inch. Nasir's nails bite at Agron's shoulders, one hand trembling up into the short hairs on the back of Agron's head, fisting. It's too much. It's not enough. It's fucking perfect ecstasy.

" _Agron!_ " Nasir cries out, tilts his head back to stare blurry eyed up at the stars. 

Agron can barely breathe himself, staring with wild and wide eyes. The awe, the amazement that he has this man, Nasir who is so far out of his league on many things, knocking the wind from his lungs. In the darkest places of Agron's mind, he knows he doesn't deserve him. Nasir is sweet, perfect, kind when Agron is rash, rough, and barbaric. But then they get to this point, when there is no space between them, and Agron can't imagine a world where his whole one is not made up of Nasir. 

"Fuck, I love you," Agron growls against Nasir's mouth, bites at the bottom lip, laps the groan from Nasir's teeth. 

"God," Nasir's whine is high, needy as he works his hips up and down, "I love you too. Fuck. Don't stop. I need you so bad. _Fuck me, come on._ "

Taking his demand, Agron drags his hands up Nasir's back and thrusts up into him, keeps his feet planted flat for momentum. He has to take over as Nasir's bounces become erratic, the buildup of the day forcing Nasir into seeking blind pleasure - not concerned about finesse or the buildup. 

"Can't stop thinking about this," Agron whispers into Nasir's ear, "Hearing you like this for the rest of our lives, always knowing you're mine. Fucking you on our wedding night, knowing it's going to be the best."

"I'm already yours," Nasir pants in return, chest sweaty as he presses tightly to Agron's front, "Could never be anyone else's. All I ever want is you. Your skin. Your heat. Your fucking eyes."

Agron brushes a chuckle against Nasir's pulse point, "Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

"I-" Nasir flounders, struck dumb as Agron's cock drags across his prostate. He's already so fucking close, the heat a burning rage at the base of his spine. 

"Tell me baby," Agron pulls him back by his hair, stares at Nasir with that wicked grin again, "Tell me how good I feel inside you." He swings his hips up hard, keeping Nasir steady so he can feel every inch sliding into him. “How much you love it when I fuck you until you’re dick drunk.”

"Agron," Nasir groans, deep in his chest as he leans back, hands braced on Agron's thighs to watch the way his body rolls down, stomach tensing every time Agron's cock presses deep inside of him. "Fuck, I can't even breathe when you're like this.” His nails dig into Agron’s thigh as the pleasure coils though him, hot and thick as he tries to get the words past his gasps. “Never had anyone so fucking good, so fucking deep. Even when you're away, when I think about it and finger myself, it's never the same."

Agron listens closely for that little hitch of Nasir's breath, hand wrapped around Nasir's cock. He starts stroking, a tight little fist that twists at Nasir's crown, when he's momentarily distracted by the view over Nasir's shoulder. He can see through the netting, the tall trees over their tent, the littering of stars blinking through the night sky, but there is something else. A shadow just on the edge of the left side of the tent, tall enough that if Agron focuses almost looks like someone is standing there. 

Nasir clenches down him, voice getting higher as he digs his hands into the meaty part of Agron's thigh, and Agron could ignore it. He's fucking delirious with lust and the need to come, and Nasir looks so fucking good, flushed and impaled on his cock like this, dribbling everywhere, but then he catches sight of something else - and a fury rages through him. It's a small, blinking red light. The type that flashes on the front of Duro's camera when he's filming. 

"Oh fuck," Nasir groans, body tightening vice like around Agron's cock as he's suddenly coming, streaking white up the other man's chest, body trembling. 

Fury rages through Agron, half delirious from the shifting in fucking emotions. What the fuck does Duro think he's doing? There is playful annoyance, the pranks and the never leaving them alone, and the way that Duro insists on picking on Nasir relentlessly. And then there is fucked up and Duro has clearly passed that line if he's outside their tent fucking filming them. Why would he do that?

"Babe?” Nasir asks dazed, body still twitching, but it's not enough to distract him. 

Gripping Nasir's waist, Agron lifts him off and gently pushes him down against the bed before he's reaching for the zipper of the tent. He knows he's leaking everywhere, sticky mess cooling on his chest but his own cock drags roughly across his hip. If he was smarter, more clear minded, he would turn around, smother himself back into Nasir's body, but he can't - anger too hot and burning in his chest.

"Duro!" Agron's voice is half growl, half scream. "You fucking shitbag, get back here!"

"Agron! What are you doing?" The bliss and completion from before is suddenly ripped from Nasir's throat as he sits up, horrified to see Agron darting from the tent - completely naked. He isn’t even sure what is going on, head blurry and body still shaking. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Agron can barely see the shadow of the man in front of him, the moon hidden behind the storm clouds. He knows who it is though, that cut of his shoulders, the panted breath. He’s spent his whole life playing tag and chasing Duro around, he knows what he looks like. There is no way he can be anyone else, darting around the trucks and equipment, black shadow a long sprawl against the thick grass. Distantly, Agron can hear the shout of his name, but he doesn’t slow – can’t slow. 

Thunder shudders through the grounds, a rumble that seems to echo over and over through the stone walls – ricocheting back ten times louder. Lightening crashes nearby, cutting a flash of light, but Agron charges forward, refusing to lose. He follows him outside of the gate, towards the woods in quick sprints. Twigs and branches cut into the pads of Agron's feet, but he doesn't slow down, trying to weave around the unfamiliar woods.

He doesn't ever remember Duro ever beating him in a race, but the man before him sprints around tree trunks and ferns like he knows this place - like it's part of him. It doesn't take long for Agron to grow disoriented, lungs burning as he slows down, lost amongst the shadows and the slowly falling rain. He tries to figure out which way he came, spinning in circles, but everything seems familiar – trees molding into one another and his footprints lost in the mud.

"Agron? What the fuck?" A flashlight swings over Agron's face, momentarily blinding him, "It's two in the morning!"

"Where the fuck is my brother?" Agron snarls, glaring at Spartacus past the light, "I'm going to rip his fucking arms off."

"Duro is back at the camp," Spartacus motions with his hand, lowering the light of the flashlight down enough to see Agron's naked state before shifting it away. Agron's cock is still hard, curved up against his hip, the rest of him dripping rain and sweat. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Someone was outside of the tent," Agron mutters distractedly, looking around him at the dark woods, "I saw the camera light."

"You think Duro was filming you and Nasir, uh," Spartacus hesitates, more for modesty's sake then Agron's. 

"I saw him," Agron bites. “I fucking saw…someone. Someone was there. The red light was blinking and I could see their fucking shadow through the windows in the tent.”

“And Nasir didn’t see anything?” Spartacus asks, crossing his arms over his chest, it aims the flashlight away from both men, left to beam upon the ground. 

“He wasn’t facing that way.” Agron mutters again, hands moving to his hair. Now that he isn’t running, the chill from the rain has started to set in. 

"Well, Duro is back at the camp, came out of his tent right after I did," Spartacus shrugs, "It's late. You were distracted. Maybe you saw shadows or something? We’re in unfamiliar territory."

"Maybe," Agron mutters, still looking around him like the man will just appear. 

Spartacus awkwardly clears his throat. "Uh, Nasir tossed me these before I came out after you. Thought you might need them?"

Agron takes the offered sweatpants, a deep, restless emotion settling into his chest. He knows, he _fucking knows_ that it was Duro. Who else has a fucking camera? Who else would do something that shitty? Certainly not Spartacus or Crixus, and Auctus would rather die than even discuss sex with Agron, let alone film it. Plus, Duro had been annoyed that he had been kicked out the tent, wanted to pull another prank, had been nonstop at them all evening.

They walk back to the camp silently, Agron not questioning how Spartacus knows his way. He's fucking Spartacus - the man is functional at all times. He’s pretty sure that Spartacus could be blindfolded and dropped in the middle of a desert and still make his way out alright. When they get back, everyone is awkwardly standing around, grimly turning their gaze towards Agron when Spartacus explains what happened. He makes the whole thing sound like a misunderstanding, but no one really believes it. 

"I didn't do it!" Duro snaps, when it’s over, turning to glare over at Agron. "What the fuck man?"

“I saw you!” Agron growls back, shoulders squaring as he turns towards his brother. The only thing keeping him from charging across the encampment and punching Duro in the face is Spartacus’ hand on his shoulder.

“Then how the fuck did I manage to run away, through the woods, and beat you back? And not even fucking break a sweat?” Duro reasons, arm held tightly in Auctus’ grip. He’s sure if he wasn’t grounded by it, Agron and him would be rolling in the dirt now.

“I don’t know by you’re the only one out here with a fucking camera,” Agron snarls, taking a staggering step forward, “You’re the only one fucking terrorizing Nasir.”

“Oh I’m fucking terrorizing him?” Duro starts in, fists clenching. He doesn’t get very far in his thought as Spartacus is raising his hand. 

“Come on, stop it. We are all exhausted. Fighting right now in the rain is only going to make us sick.”

"Whatever." Agron waves his hand tiredly, too confused and fucking exhausted to get into right now. He knows what he fucking saw. "Where is Nasir?"

He looks around, not seeing his fiancé in the open tent mouth. 

Naevia's gaze is sharp as she points over to the Chevy, unamused by being woken up. Agron sighs deeply as he realizes what that means, beginning to walk over, feet sluggish and bruised. He makes sure to draw close to Duro on the way, leaning in as Duro watches him, weary. 

“If you do not delete that video,” Agron hisses, tone dipping until it rumbles through his chest, growling between his teeth, “and it leaks somewhere or somehow it ends up on the internet, I will beat you until they have to use your dental records to identify your corpse.”

“I didn’t do it,” Duro hisses back, nose wrinkling, “And even if I had, why would I film you guys fucking now? I could have recorded you any other time.”

“Dental records,” Agron snarls before shoving away from him, making a beeline for his truck. His fingers feel numb when they reach for the handle, affronted when he finds it locked. Nasir is sitting in the back seat, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

"Babe, come back to bed. I'm sorry, okay?" Agron begs quietly, tugging on the handle. Everyone else is slinking back to their own tents, grumbling against the rain.

Nasir doesn't flinch though, stares straight ahead with his bottom lip worried between his teeth. 

Sighing, Agron rests his forehead against the glass, "Nasir, come on. You can't sleep in the truck. Come back to the tent."

Still, no reaction except that Nasir's fingers tighten where he holds the blankets around himself. 

"I'll make it up to you!" Agron tries desperately, too exhausted to keep up this fight. 

Slowly, Nasir turns to look over him, eyes bloodshot and piercing as he glares. It cuts Agron deeply that there are tears in Nasir's eyes, mouth twisted bitterly when he rolls down the window half an inch. 

"Fuck you."

Nasir's voice is sharp, furious and trembling. He ends the discussion with rolling back up the window, turning away. He doesn’t bother responding to Agron’s palm slammed against the frame of the truck, a quiet curse in the night. 

Staggering back to the tent, Agron ignores the smell of sweat and sex, flopping onto his back and pushing all the covers off him. Sweat cooling, Agron can still feel his body thrumming from the exercise, half throbbing from his unspent cock. What a fucking nightmare. He won’t be able to sleep now, needs Nasir body pressed tightly to his. Instead, Agron resigns himself to staring out at the storm clouds, the roll of thunder hinting at a downpour soon. 

The clouds shatter around four, thick raindrops pelting down nearly horizontal as the wind whips through the small camp. The storm is relentless, waves after wave of water and lightening. Thunder shakes the ground, trees rustling and spitting their leaves down against the slick grass. It rocks the walls of the tents, dampens the sleeping bags, and seems to seep nearly to the bone, cold and ruthless.

It’s still a heavy drizzle when the pale sun breaks over the horizon. Hard ground turned to mud, Nasir grimaces as he moves through the camp, leaving his boots outside of the tent when he slips inside. He half expects to be wading through a puddle to find his stuff. It’s still dark inside, shadows playing across the duffle bags, the thick sleeping bags, and the quilt that Melitta sent them when they moved into the house together.

Agron is there too, sprawled on his back with one leg hanging out from the blankets. There is a bruise on his shoulder, dark red and vicious against his pale skin. Nasir knows it’s from his mouth, stares at it with recognition and the knowledge of how it got there. Still, the sex is just a vague memory, heat and the sweat. It’s the disappointment that sticks, the constant knowing that no matter what Nasir does, it will never change. He had hoped once, but that hope was futile. 

Crouching down, Nasir unzips his duffle bag slowly, peeling the now damp sweatpants off and pulling out a pair of skinnies. It’s hard going, pulling them on against damp and pebbled skin, but he still manages, shimming until the denim stretches across his thighs, buttoning them under Agron’s oversized thermal. He debates for a moment, thinking about peeling the material off and throwing it as far away from him as he can, but there is something still comforting about being wrapped up in Agron, smelling like him, even when Nasir is pissed beyond words.

“Hey.” Agron’s voice is soft, a bare whisper like the rain through the pale, blue nylon.

“Morning.” Nasir murmurs, crouching down before his duffle bag again and tugging out a brush.

The rustle of Agron moving fills the tent, breaks the silence until his hand suddenly presses warm and soft to the middle of Nasir’s back. He rubs against the sharp plains of Nasir’s shoulder blades, traces down his spine. It’s not meant to be seductive, not with heated intent, instead, Agron just wants to comfort. He wants to remember what it felt like a few hours ago, when everything was better, when he hadn’t fucked it up.

“I’m an asshole,” Agron sighs, leaning his forehead against the ball of Nasir’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Nasir nods slowly. He wants to be harsh, hold firm with his anger and his contempt, but then Agron exhales slow and soft. Nasir turns, hand cupping along the rough stubble on Agron’s cheek. “Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

Nasir notices the red eyes, the dark smudges of bruises around them from where Agron has probably rubbed too hard and too long. He eases his fingertips over Agron’s forehead, traces his eyebrows, and then gently over his cheek. Agron takes the caresses, waits until Nasir’s wrist is before his mouth before he kisses it gently.

“Neither did I.” Nasir means for it to come out harsh, cruel even, but it really ends up just sounding exhausted. 

“I know you’re mad,” Agron starts, “and I know I fucked up, but I don’t want to sleep alone like that again. I don’t like going to bed without you.”

“I don’t like it either, going to bed in opposite places, furious with each other,” Nasir replies, looping his arms over Agron’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I got in the truck.”

“No, baby, you know it’s my fault,” Agron soothes, kissing Nasir’s cheek, “I’m going to talk to Duro today. I should have done it months ago. I should have listened to you.”

Nasir doesn’t bother to comment, knowing it’s true but not wanting to stir the pot. He doesn’t want the stress, doesn’t want to fight anymore. Thought last night seemed like a breaking point, Nasir doubts that it is. Duro will be stuck in his ways forever, and Nasir will always be the obstacle. Still, it feels nice to have Agron in his arms again, curling around one another. Nasir leans into the touch, pulls himself into Agron’s lap and hugs him tightly.

“Are we okay now?” Agron asks, massaging a hand through Nasir’s tangled hair.

“Better than okay,” Nasir replies softly.

“Still love me?” Agron jostles his knees, rocking Nasir slightly.

“Always.”

He means it, more than anything. Knows he will always will, already more in love with Agron than Nasir ever thought it possible. He lets Agron kiss the grin from his mouth, pressing their lips together tightly until Nasir forgets what he was supposed to be doing, forgets the still pouring rain outside. It’s easy to fall against him, to let Agron overwhelm and also free him, let him let the anger go.

They’re disrupted, as always, though by Duro’s voice, shouting loudly outside, voice raw and full of malice. It’s followed a moment later by Crixus and then Spartacus, a clatter loudly that rises above the quiet patter of rain. It's the beginning of an argument, still too early for distinct words to be heard.

Agron growls, ignoring it for the time being, hands tight on the back of Nasir’s thermal. He won’t let his brother disturb him again, intent on making it up to his fiancé. Whatever Duro is pissed about, Agron will handle it later.

“Fuck you! If we stay out here any longer, we’re going to sink into the mud. I don’t control the fucking rain, Crixus!” Duro shouts, voice loud enough it feels as if he’s inside the tent itself.

"Duro’s right,” Mira pipes up, “We can’t stay out here for much longer. Everything is getting soaked. We have electrical equipment that is going to be ruined if we let it get flooded.”

“And going into a house we know nothing about is better?” Naevia’s voice is sharp, relentless.

"Better than all of our shit getting washed away," Duro snarls, "I'm not suggesting it because I want to jeopardize the whole fucking project. It's the safest possible option."

"No one said that, Duro," Spartacus tries to be calm, but the strain on his voice his obvious. “But we need to decide what is safest first. We have no idea what is in that house, what the foundation is like, the conditions, anything.”

"I'm not moving in there until we've done a thorough walk through," Crixus growls out, "End of fucking story."

"Agron!" Duro's hand slaps the side of the tent, “Get your ass out here and back me up.”

“Fuck,” Agron pulls back from Nasir’s mouth, annoyance at being interrupted only growing as he takes in Nasir’s bruised mouth, his dazed look. “I’m not fucking doing this shit today.”

“Come on, before they start throwing punches.” Nasir swings his leg over Agron’s lap, staggering slightly before unzipping and then ducking under the opening of the tent.

Agron comes out a minute later, yanking a tank top over the top of his head. It doesn’t quiet reach his sweatpants on one side, fabric rolled and revealing the sharp cut of his hipbone. Nasir fits his hand against it, caresses the smooth skin soothingly. He knows the touch will help ground him, calm Agron’s rage for the moment.

“What the fuck is going on now?” Agron bites out, crossing his arms against the cool temperature of the rain.

“We’re at a standstill,” Spartacus starts, always the voice of reason, “We can’t stay out here in the rain for another night. It’s too muddy, and the storm doesn’t look like it’s going to let up. Duro wants to go inside. Crixus wants to make sure the house is safe first.”

Agron looks between the men, Crixus’ snarl and Duro’s dark gaze, pleading for Agron to back him up. He can see both sides of the argument, the rain is horrible, and their gear won’t last much longer in the complete onslaught. That being said, there is no saying what type of mold or animals are inside of the house, let alone the condition of it. Taking a deep breath, Agron turns from both men and looks at Nasir.

“What do you want to do, babe?” He asks it quietly, but Duro’s scoff still carries across the wet grass.

“What are you asking him for? I’m fucking right!”

“I’m asking,” Agron snarls, glaze whipping over to his brother, “my husband what he wants to do. I’m not doing anything he’s not one hundred percent behind.’

Nasir can’t contain the self-indulgent grin that spreads across his face, blush ghosting along the apples of his cheeks. There will be time to revel in the words later though. “I think Crixus is right. We should open up the house, but we should definitely explore the downstairs first. Maybe we can set up camp in the lobby at first?”

“Perfect. Are we okay with that?” Agron turns back to Crixus, waiting for his nod before turning to Spartacus and getting the same reply. “Alright. Duro, with me. Let’s map out the yard and the grounds while everyone else packs up. We’re going to need it for the blueprint.”

“But!” Duro begins to protest, but a glare from Agron silences him, kicking the dirt dejectedly as he dips into his tent for his jacket. He doesn’t care that he’s acting childish. He doesn’t fucking care. The only reason any of them are even fucking out here is because he got famous enough. It’s kind of pathetic that Agron and Nasir have any claim to fame considering people only watch them because half of Duro’s fanbase is made up of tumblr junkies who like to watch men fuck. 

Agron turns back towards his own tent, figuring he might as well cover up and grab shoes too, when Nasir’s hand wraps firmly around his bicep, pausing his movements. He still has that grin stretched across his face, eyes gleaming as he tugs Agron down, pulls him close until they are sharing the same breath. It ghosts hot and humid over Agron’s cheeks, staining them red from the mixture of heat and cold. He’s struck a little dumb at the dark rings of hazel that are only visible in Nasir’s eyes when he’s this close. 

“Say it again.” Nasir’s eyes flicker to Agron’s mouth, breath a gasping whisper.

Agron grins slow with dimples and eyes bright, knowing what Nasir wants to hear. “My husband.”

“I could hear that a million times and it will never get old,” Nasir gushes, giggling as Agron peppers kisses across his cheeks and nose.

“Soon, babe, so soon.”

\- - -

Duro doesn’t think it’s really fair, how often people forget that he’s been with Agron since the beginning. Before there was Nasir, before there was Spartacus, there was Duro. Duro was the fifteen-year-old that pressed frozen pizza bagels (the only thing they had in the apartment) to Agron’s eye when he’d come back from fighting. He was the one that washed the blood off of Agron’s palms, bandaged his raw knuckles, wrapped his ribs when Agron could barely crawl up their apartment stairs. He was the one to see, to know that Agron was killing himself to survive. 

It was easy money, necessary money. They barely had anything after their parents died, living on scraps in a tiny apartment with holes in the walls and a barely there water pressure. It felt like paradise though when they were together, two boys too fucking stubborn to show the world how scared they were. Duro never really had to fear though, not when Agron stood between him and everything else. Duro can’t forget it. Forget how Agron sacrificed himself, over and over again, so that they could survive. Duro remembers every scratch, every bruise, every broken bone.

Now, the rain slicks the grass into deadly ice, temperature dropping even though the sun is supposed to be up by now. The moisture sticks against their skin, pebbled and dripping, but Duro can’t help the warm feeling settling in his stomach. He knows he’s in trouble, Agron’s hard jaw line a clear sign of it. Duro wishes he could recoil back to months ago when there had been no Nasir, had been no one but the sweat and blood drying on Agron’s skin, Duro’s hands and his feet still too big for his body. 

“You and Nasir make up?” Duro asks lightly, waving a stick he found on the ground, tapping it against his ankle.

“Yeah, we’re fine now.” Agron’s tone is halfway between gruff and growling. He’s using an app on his phone to measure their distance, walking carefully along the length of the fence. 

“Wedding plans going okay?” Duro wants to stay a positive topic. He’s seen Agron secretly gushing over Nasir’s Pinterest accounts. He knows all about Agron’s opinions on the white orchids Nasir picked for the ceremony and the gold matching wedding bands Agron has hidden in the back office of the gym. Maybe if they focus on that, then they won’t slip into the inevitable argument. 

“Duro,” Agron sighs deeply, rolling his head to look at his brother. And there it is. There is that look. “Did you film us having sex last night?”

“No! Why the fuck would you think that?” Duro stops abruptly, turning to square his shoulders at his brother. “I told you I didn’t fucking do it.”

“I know what I saw,” Agron replies, arms crossed tightly over his chest, muscles bulging and tight, “and it’s not like you have boundaries when it comes to Nasir and my relationship.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Duro grits his teeth. Of course, of fucking course Nasir probably did this. Probably said some bullshit that would turn Agron against him, gave him ideas. Duro had overheard some of their fights, of Nasir hissing about relationships and boundaries and why was Duro always up Agron’s ass about everything?

"You know what I'm talking about," Agron sighs, face scrunched. "You've got to give us some space, man. The constant terrorizing Nasir and never listening when we need some room. His name is right next to mine on the deed of the house. It’s his home just as much as it’s mine."

"Respect your space? I'm your fucking brother, Agron. Not some chump you found on the street." Duro snarls, hands curled into fists. “If you forget, I was around way before he was.”

"Doesn't mean that you're just allowed to do anything you want," Agron retorts, "You can't just barge into our room and ignore it when we clearly are doing something. Or terrorize Nasir to the point where he thinks you hate him. And don’t try and fucking tell me you’re kidding around. You take it too far and then he’s caught between us. How is that fair?"

"How is it fair that he shows up and suddenly I don't mean shit? I'm your fucking brother, Agron." Duro keeps repeating the same thing, hoping that it will stick. “I don’t terrorize him, either. You know our family. We’re tough on each other because we care.”

“You call him names. You literally won’t do anything around the house. You eat everything and never think to return the favor by going and getting food. I know you tracked mud all over Nasir’s rug, even though you knew he had just got it imported and it was fucking expensive,” Agron lists off on his fingers. “You also purposely pull cruel pranks on him all the time.”

“Pranks? Like what?” Duro crosses his arms over his chest, “I told you I was sorry about the flour in the pillows.”

“And moving everything in the kitchen to the top shelf was just a joke? The tripping and poking and prodding at him?” Agron is breathing harsh now. 

“It was all fun and games. Nasir got me back for the kitchen,” Duro shrugged, “He glued that pop bottle to the top of my car!”

“You left the bottle on your car in the sun in the middle of summer,” Agron rolls his eyes, continuing on, “You interrupted our anniversary dinner by coming in, drunk might I add, and demanding to be fed. Then, when it was really fucking clear what we had planned after dinner, you begged and begged to play video games with me.” Agron takes a deep breath, “And you know he only said it was fine because he didn’t want to upset me.”

“But you fucking came and played with me!” Duro snarls, rounding on his brother. “If you knew it was going to upset him, why didn’t you just tell me no? You didn’t want to go with him. You wanted to hang out with me. He’s always controlling you.”

"You know that’s not fucking true. Duro, I love you. We're always going to be brothers but-" Duro doesn't let Agron finish.

"But what? You get yourself a guy to fuck on the regular and I'm suddenly out?" Duro shakes his head, "And then what? What happens when Nasir turns out not to be some shining prince that you think he is?"

"Duro, Nasir isn't going anywhere. He's part of our family now," Agron recoils slightly, a slow sadness morphing over his face. "I thought you knew that."

“How can you even know that though?” Duro asks, going in for the killing move, “Once a whore, always a-“

“Stop.”

Duro watches his brother closely, trying to see something that isn't there - the false hope. The hope that he's not losing him. That Agron knows Duro would do anything for him, but not this. Not settle while someone else steals him away. Agron’s face morphs into rage for just a moment, a snarl as his hands curl into fists at his sides. He takes a moment to gain control again, Duro using it to his advantage. 

“Agron, please. Think of what you’re doing, what you’ve become.”

Dropping his head, Agron rubs a hand through his hair, scoffing slightly. He looks bewildered, confused at the sludge and mud between them, before slowly raising his head. Duro has to repress the whimper at the pain furrowing down Agron’s brow. 

"He's never asked me to choose. Even after all the shit you've done, he just puts up with it. So why are you so unhappy now that I am?"

"I'm not unhappy because you're happy," Duro reaches out, slipping his hand over Agron's shoulder, afraid until his brother relents and pulling him into a hug. "I just want to still be in your life still. Without Auctus. Without Nasir. Don’t you remember how it used to be?"

"We’re better now, Duro. Things are better,” Agron murmurs the words into Duro’s ear, holding him tightly, “I cannot image my life without him. Can’t you understand that?”

“Yes,” Duro chokes out, angry tears squeezed out and hidden in the rain.

“You'll always be my blood," Agron hugs Duro roughly until it feels like they'll morph into one being, "Nasir is my family now too though, so can you try a little harder? I try for Auctus."

"Yeah, I'll be better," Duro promises, lies but promises, because it’s better to suffer if Agron is happy. It is not worth the fight if he loses Agron in the process. 

 

\- - -

“Pietros just texted me,” Nasir pipes up, glancing down at his phone, “The road is washed out. They’re going to try and get here by tomorrow, but no promises. Also, service up here really fucking sucks”

“Better safe than sorry,” Spartacus murmurs, holding the large metal case of a tape measurer against the floor. Agron has the other end, extended above his head towards the awning over the stairs.

They’re all piled onto the front porch, laden down with lanterns, flashlights, and other tools. Crixus is still scowling, not pleased to be entering the house half in dark, even with the late afternoon hour. It seems that the night has dragged on and the persistence of it has pulled all of their moods under as well. They don’t have another option though, the storm has only gotten worse, slipping from a light drizzle to full out droplets hinged with hail. It is not the common weather of September, but none of the group will comment on it. 

“Duro, keys.” Spartacus commands, letting the tape retract with a sharp snap. “Let’s get this going. I want us bedded down and secure before five.”

Duro’s hands tremble excitedly as he slips the large, brass key from his pocket, looped with a large crimson tassel. It’s cliché and overdone, but he hadn’t thought of removing it – not sure what this anonymous owner would think when he got the key back. Duro wants to do this professionally, more than any other job. This is their largest payout and their biggest project, and Duro knows that if they can pull this off, then they’ll all be set.

The door creeks slowly, a loud yawn on rusty hinges that echoes ominously into the dark lobby. It feels like the mouth of the lodge, the beast opening up wide to take them in. A rush of air comes out to meet them, smelling thick of wet cement and rot, the putrid stench of undisturbed spaces. A few leaves blow out to greet them, dark black and curled around the edges. It’s a sign there must be damage in the house, an opening somewhere that nature has found a way to get though. It does not explain the way the house seems to draw in a breath, a deep lungful like a beast taking in the first scent of its prey. 

Unflinching, Agron carefully lowers his hand and laces his fingers through Nasir’s, squeezing reassuringly. He doesn’t have to look at his fiancé to know that Nasir is recoiling, nervous about the new surroundings and the ominous feeling it holds. Raising his arm, Agron presses a kiss against his knuckles before leading him forward, brave enough for both of them.

The main lobby is huge, parquet floor zigzagged in a large circle with small tiles of gold and copper. It hints at the work having gone into making this lodge into such a masterpiece, each tiny square having been laid by skilled hands. The main staircase extends in the center, large mahogany bannister an intricate patchwork of carved animals – bears, foxes, deer – and interlaced are small fairies, cherubs, and fawns. There is something almost lovely and tragic about it, a plethora of fairytales left to rot – forgotten and alone. It all leads up majestically to the upper balcony, a pewter and gold chandelier hanging dark and lifeless above them, the tiny crystals swinging in the stormy breeze.

Duro whistles low, one continuous note as he turns, taking in the large paintings on the walls, the dust and cobwebs over every surface, the antiques placed and forgotten on sideboards and stands. It’s strange in its age though. Nothing is faded, nothing is worn or old looking. Instead, it almost looks preserved, like a photograph covered in a thin, powdery layer of dust and grit. Even the dead flowers on a side table, rose petals having turned to nothing but cruel twists, looks to have been placed there with intent.

“How old did you say this house was?” Naevia’ voice is faint, awe apparent as she steps closer to the staircase, peering down at a small, grinning cherub. 

“Mid-1800s,” Auctus supplies, arm looped around Duro’s waist as he leads him towards the wall, both of their heads tilted back to gaze up at a landscape painting. It is a castle, the walls a glossy sheen of silver. Beside it, a large gallows has been constructed, five little bodies hanging in a straight row. 

“It’s so-,” Agron drags his fingers down a small statue of a dancing satyr, the curves of his beard having been carved with such fine detail.

“Preserved.” Nasir finishes, nearly plastered to Agron’s side, his own fingers dragging down the side of a small music box. The movement seems to disturb it, a few quiet chimes filling the room. 

The group shares a look, the type that people who have spent all the time together can share. It reads of horror, but also surprise, amazed by the magnitude of the place. Of the sheer detail that has gone into every single piece of even the first room. It is more than they expected, more than they were prepared for, and yet the excitement is thick enough to suffocate in the room. Everyone, except for Nasir, who recoils sharply at the sound of the tinkering, nails digging into Agron’s bicep. 

“Let’s split up. Duro, Agron, and Auctus, why don’t you go upstairs, see if we can find out where that leak is coming from and access the damage. Naevia, Mira, and Nasir, work down here, open up the shutters and let in as much light as possible. Crixus and I will take the basement and see if we can’t get some power back in this old place.”

Spartacus isn’t the leader of this project, not the manager, but Duro doesn’t mind. If anyone should be the leader, it should be him. Spartacus has this peculiar way of getting everyone together, getting people to shut up and compromise. It’s always better to have Spartacus on your team then against.

Agron stoops a little when everyone moves, cupping Nasir’s jaw gently. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Agron,” Nasir’s face flushes, embarrassed but too concerned to stop himself. 

“Stick close to Naevia and Mira. You know they won’t let anything happen to you.” Agron tilts Nasir’s chin up just a little more, enough to peck his full mouth. 

“It is not me that I’m worried about.” Nasir’s words are lost as Agron turns, bumping into Duro as they race towards the stairs. 

\- - -

“Do you really think this old place is gonna have any power?” Crixus asks, swinging his flashlight so the beam swoops up and down the basement steps. Beside him, Spartacus holds his firm in one, long line, having to duck under a rafter.

“Probably a crank generator,” Spartacus shrugs, “Pietros sent me the research last week. This place was in working condition until the twenties. It fell into an unknown owner after the Depression. Something sketchy in the paperwork.”

“And? What was it?” Crixus asks, turning to look at his friend.

“Hunting lodge turned to boarding school for the undesirable. Lots of people sent their sons here, mental illness and shit.” Spartacus replies, easing himself down the old, mildewed stairs. “Yet, it just disappears from the books. Not a mention of it until now.”

“Sounds like one of those places you see on those haunting shows,” Crixus laughs, the sound echoing around the damp cement walls.

“Something like-“ Spartacus starts, only to be cut off by an ear shattering scream from upstairs.

It seems even louder from down here, where the shadows press in on either side and the stench is nearly overwhelming. It doesn’t help that the rain has seeped in through the floor, small puddles that vibrate as the scream bounces around the stones. 

“Naevia!” Crixus hollers, turning on his heel and bounding back up the steps. The wood sags under his weight, groaning, but doesn’t give; Spartacus right on his heels.

They sprint through the kitchen and back across the lobby, following the echoes to the large dining room adjacent to the main hall. The whole space is a large rectangle, floor to ceiling stained glass windows taking up both sides of the room. A trio of chandeliers hang above the table in darkness, their candles half melted.

Crixus and Spartacus manage to get inside the door just as Duro, Agron, and Auctus slam in through the other end. Agron is across the floor in a plum of dust, wrapping his arms around both Naevia and Nasir in one large hug. They’re standing by a set of curtains, pale sunlight streaming in as a rainbow across the floor. By the other wall, Mira crouches against the floorboards, hand over her mouth.

“Mira? What is it?” Spartacus approaches her cautiously, hand out stretched.

“I-“ She quivers, basically crawling until Spartacus pulls her up, wrapping her up tightly. “I didn’t even – It’s dumb but – Who would do something like that?”

“Do something like what?” Agron cuts in, fingers tangled in the back of Nasir’s hair, cradling his face against his chest.

The smaller man doesn’t reply, just outstretches his arm to point at the long table taking up most of the room, shivering when he turns to look.

A long white table cloth lines the fine wood, the silk edges hanging down nearly to the floor. It’s set with silverware, crystal plates, glasses, and full pitchers of tar, black liquid. Someone has taken the care to place plastic food inside the serving trays, piled high and glinting, their sheen dulled by years of dust and grime, but still full of color. Each side holds at least a dozen chairs, mahogany and carved like the banister, and poised before them are people. Perfectly sculpted mannequins fill the room, each dressed in their Sunday best. Women wrapped in beaded dresses, embroidered headbands clasped between the strands of their shining hair. Men in full suits, hands poised on the table as if in the middle of conversation. There are even children, glass eyes staring lifelessly at one another, carved mouths open and pulled back – a lasting caricature of laughter. This too, like everything else in the lodge, seems kept with intention to return. Like someone could just flip a switch and the party would come back to life.

“What the fuck?” Spartacus’ usually cool attitude is stripped from him as he leans towards the lifeless party, eyes squinting in the dim light.

“I caught the reflection on the mirror. I thought they were corpses,” Mira mutters, following her husband forward, “Perfectly preserved like the rest of this fucking house.”

“I told you,” Nasir’s whisper carries in the silent room, but his face is turned up towards Agron, “I told you we were not alone. Someone has turned this place into a life size dollhouse. We shouldn’t be here.”

“We can’t leave, Nasir,” Duro bites out, inching forward to run his fingers over the soft hairs of a woman, her scarlet lips pulled back in a wide smile, tongue faded to tan. 

"They're incredibly detailed," Auctus joins his boyfriend, tapping a long chandelier earring, watching it swing. He half expects the mannequin to turn and look at him, appearing so life like except for their stretched expressions. "Maybe it's an art piece? That one almost looks like Mira."

"Who the fuck would consider this art?" Naevia chimes in, still holding onto Agron's large arm. She lets go under Crixus offered one, slipping against her husband instead. "This is grotesque."

"Maybe the previous owner is some old, lonely bachelor that always wanted to have dinner parties," Duro begins to explain, moving slowly around the table, "and this was his only way? Maybe he got tired of crouching before a small doll house and decided to make himself a bigger one? Maybe he needed a girlfriend?"

"A creepy old geezer who filled his house with plastic people because he can't get laid? Sounds like an episode of The Twilight Zone," Agron scoffs, staying where he is, rubbing Nasir's back softly. He can feel that Nasir is shaking, pressing his cheek down to the soft fabric of Agron’s shirt and letting his arms become a vice around his waist. Agron would not push him away for anything. 

“Do you think their mouths are so big because they’re not really mannequins?” Duro asks again, the rest of the room slowly turning to look at him. 

“Meaning what?” Spartacus is diligent enough to respond. 

“Well I mean, lonely old guy gets a house full of perfectly formed humans with huge, open mouths. I figure they’re formed like that for a reason,” Duro reaches forward, fingers curling around the hem of one of the women’s dresses. 

“Duro, don’t.” Agron cuts him off, skin crawling at the thought of it. “No one in this room wants to know if he bought a whole bunch of sex dolls.”

"Sounds like your future," Duro chides lightly, no heat behind the words. 

"Can we please get the fuck out of this creepy ass room now?" Nasir pipes up, leaning out from against Agron's side, "Or are you planning on molesting all the mannequins, Duro? Need us to leave you alone with your dolls?"

"Hilarious." Duro replies dryly, flipping Nasir off. "We might as well get used to this place. We can't leave yet."

The group shares a look among themselves, some horror and others hardened. It’s not exactly harmful, more like they’ve stumbled upon someone’s personal wax statue collection. And, although it’s not normal and Nasir refuses to stand in the room a minute longer, unlatching himself from Agron’s arms to tug Naevia back into the lobby, they know they can’t leave yet. If the road is washed out, then that means they have nowhere to go. They are stuck here. 

"The rooms upstairs are in pretty good condition," Agron offers up, closing the doors tightly to the dining room, "Any luck on the power?"

"We didn't get very far into the basement," Crixus replies, "Could be possible. This sort of house, it might have a crank generator. We'll have to see."

"Why don't we go back down? Auctus, you can come with us, check out the foundation." Spartacus directs, "The rest of you, go pick out bedrooms. We're moving in early."

 

\- - -

The upstairs hallways are all hardwood, a deep mahogany that is covered in a thin layer of dust - much as the rest of the house. The walls are decorated in portraits and art work - huge paintings of leering men and women, destitute landscapes with no life or trees. Carved statues of mythological creatures linger between the large doorways, stained wooden eyes following them as they walk by. The group have all decided to take up residency in the same building, seeing no point in stretching over the vast connecting wings of the manor. 

Naevia whistles low, tilting her head back to stare at the arched ceiling. "Holy shit, guys."

"We do not have enough Lysol wipes for the amount of fucking dust in this place," Mira wrinkles her nose, dragging her fingertips down the edge of a vase. When she pulls back, her finger is covered in gray. 

"I don't think we brought enough of anything," Nasir mutters, leaning into Agron’s side. They're holding hands, strolling slow down the length of the hallway. Every so often, Nasir will pause to consider a painting, wrinkling his nose. 

"Well," Agron leans down, pressing his mouth against Nasir's ear, "if we run out of lube, I'm more than willing to use my mouth."

"You're a perv," Nasir can't help but laugh, trying to shove him away. Agron doesn't let him though, pulling him back, wrapping him tightly in a bear hug. He isn’t usually one to be so forward in front of their friends, usually pulling Nasir away from the group, but he’s looked so tense and upset since they got there. Agron is willing to do whatever it takes to make Nasir happy.

"I'm just trying to be a supportive and flexible boyfriend."

"Oh, is that all it is?" Nasir grins up at Agron, giggling when Agron swoops down, kissing him.

They’ve managed to get the power on, old flickering bulbs built into the chandeliers light their way. It gives the whole place an oddly golden glow, contrasting to the still gray and flickering outside, creating more shadows than really helping. It seems that the storm will never pass, a constant reminder that they are stuck here. Prisoners by the weather and by the need to find sustainable shelter. 

"Hey Agron, do you think we can put some skylights in here? Would help with how dark it is," Duro turns back, swinging his camera slowly to take in the full panorama of the hall. He rolls his eyes when he fully turns, lens focusing on Agron grabbing Nasir's ass, the pair of them nearly knocking into a sideboard table. “Come on! If you break that, it’s coming out of your cut!”

"Um." Pulling back, Agron drags the side of his hand over his mouth, staring up at the steeple ceilings above them. "Maybe? We'd have to check the status in the attic and then the roof itself. I'm not climbing up there until the rain stops though."

"The roof is one hundred and eight feet tall," Crixus pipes up, voice deep and gravely carrying through the corridor, "No one is getting up there without the proper equipment, including ropes and harnesses. The last thing we need is to be stuck out here and someone get hurt."

"Aw, you do care." Agron grins at him, dramatically batting his eyes. “All concerned over my safety. Wanting to make sure I stay whole and intact.”

"I just don't want to peel your dumb ass off the concrete." Crixus swats at him, laughing when Agron retaliates, missing only because Crixus dashes away.

Spartacus calls out to them, lightly chastising them for messing around. He feels bad for it, watching them slowly somber. It's the first time there has been any laughter or joking around since they got here, the whole group seeming to walk on a thin line between pissed and terrified.

"This place is so amazing. Look at the details," Auctus' awestruck voice filters out from the beginning of the group where he's staring up at a large archway leading into the rest of the wing where the bedrooms are. The siding of the arch is twisted wood, appearing as if someone has created it from moving branches together, long and finger like. 

"Yeah," Nasir leans into Naevia, inspecting a tiny cupid, its mouth curved up in a malicious looking grin. "Nothing better than living in a house that looks like it was built for the Aphex Twin monster."

"Come to Daddy," Naevia mutters in reply, smirking over at him.

"Fuck that," Nasir sticks his tongue out at her, recoiling away. He shudders dramatically, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. "So fucking creepy."

"What's creepy?" Duro moves to stand near them, zooming in with his camera on the cherub's face. 

"You." 

Both Naevia and Nasir answer together, bursting into laughter a moment later when Duro flips them off. 

"You guys are dicks." Duro tries to kick out at them, holding the camera as steady as he can to keep the shot. He can't do it though, nearly toppling over. 

"Easy bambi. Let's not break the camera when we just got here," Auctus catches him, straightening Duro back up, "Yeah?"

"Mhm." Duro puckers up, making a pleased hum when Auctus kisses him. 

Down the hallway, Nasir begins to inspect the different doors, cataloguing their inscriptions. There is one with tiny doves on it, all settled in a large tree. The next one is foxes running along a hill, a group of bears dancing in a circle. The one after that is an intricately carved sun, the beams spreading out in waves and etchings. Nasir presses his palm against it, marveling at the design. 

There is something odd about this place. Nasir can't put his finger on it, like a strange sort of lingering in the back of his mind. It's as if a melody is playing there, solid and present, and yet Nasir can't remember the words. He's never been here before, and yet he swears that he has, he swears that he knows this house, this room, this door. 

"You picked one out yet?" Agron slides up behind him, wrapping Nasir tightly in his arms. He presses his nose gently against Nasir’s hairline, lips trailing gently along the tendon there. Nasir leans into it, tilting his head to the side. 

"This one," Nasir murmurs, fingers stroking along the curve a cloud. 

"You sure? How do you know what it looks like?" Agron teases, reaching for the handle. He freezes a moment later at Nasir's words. 

"It's red."

"What's red?" Agron turns, studying his fiancé. Nasir has a strange look on his face, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth in a thin line. An eerie sheen has taken over him, paling him out and cooling hi8m against his usually flushed and happy face, tinged almost sepia. 

"The room." 

Nasir's voice is faint, almost as if he's sleeping. 

“The room is red?” Agron can’t help the skepticism tinging his voice, a foreboding heat growing in his stomach. 

“You remember, don’t you?” Nasir is still stroking his fingers over the wood, tracing along the line of one of the sunbeams. Agron doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, how Nasir could have turned from his lovely and snarky boyfriend into this ghost, this shade, in only a few steps. 

“We’ve never been here before, babe. You know that.”

Nasir doesn't respond when Agron slowly unlatches the door, the click seeming to echo down the length of the hallway. When he pulls it open, Agron has to swallow his sound of surprise, slowly tracking his eyes over the room. 

Everything from the carpet to the curtains to the velvet bedspread are all varying shades of red, gold mixing between as if sunlight. It's gorgeous, huge and sculpted just like the rest of the house, and yet unlike the rest of the house, this room has toys in it. A large dollhouse sits on a low pedestal on the far right wall, a chest of sculpted wooden figures nearby. Mobiles of suns and stars and moons cover the ceiling, spinning slowly in lazy circles. A China tea set is situated on a small carved table with tiny stools, plastic tarts and cakes placed on small white plates. 

"Is this-" Agron starts, unsure even what he's going to ask. It doesn't matter though, Nasir is already moving into the room, tossing his duffle bag down on the large chest at the foot of the bed. 

"Are you guys seriously picking this room?" Duro laughs from the doorway, raising an eyebrow at them. "This doesn't seem like the usual group of toys you are into."

"Fuck you," Agron waves his hand, half-heartedly at his brother. "Babe?”

Agron watches Nasir, watches as he stands staring up a mobile, expression blank. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be focusing on anything really, just standing there with his head thrown back and mouth slightly open. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, as immobile as the statues outside of the room.

“Are you sure this is the one you want?"

"No closet," Nasir replies, voice faint and hazy. He's rubbing at his eyes with a fist, looking young and small in the huge room. "No one to see us."

"Oh-kay." Duro drags the word out, eying the pair of them, "You're both fucking nuts. I'm going to leave you to it."

Agron waits until Duro has left, the group moving past their still open door, before approaching Nasir. He's still staring up at the mobile, fingers pressed against his throat. Against the pale gray of his t-shirt, there is a damp spot just over his left shoulder blade. Agron is careful as he reaches out, fingers cupping Nasir's jaw and tilting his face back down. 

"Are you okay?" 

Nasir stares at him, and it's as if someone has suddenly turned the saturation back on. Slowly, color returns to Nasir's face, his eyes focusing and brightening, even the bruise on his neck seems to finally come into focus. Agron gets a surge of affection for him, leaning down to kiss him. 

"I love you," Agron bumps their foreheads together, stroking Nasir's cheekbone. He grins in response, leaning up for one more kiss. 

"I love you too." 

Drawing back, Nasir scrunches his face, spreading his arms around himself. He takes a general consensus of their clothing, dust covered and dirty, along with his streaked face. "I seriously need a shower. Did we ever figure out if the water was working?"

"I can get Spartacus to work on it." Agron replies, shrugging, "You don't look that dirty though. I could help, if you want, to dirty you more up." He tries for innocent, but his grin gives him away. 

"I haven't showered since yesterday," Nasir pushes Agron back from him, shaking his head. "I'm gross. I can feel the lube all over me."

"So?" Agron comes back, arms circling around Nasir's waist, "Let's not let it go to waste then." 

"That's disgusting. You’re so gross. I need a shower," Nasir laughs, using both of his hands on Agron's chest to push him back, "and you need to go help Spartacus. Or I’ll be forced to gather rain water like I’m some pioneer wife."

"You would look so pretty in a bonnet,” Agron smacks his lips wetly to Nasir’s cheek. “Fine. But I will not be blamed if when I get back, I too find myself in need of a shower," Agron begins to back towards the door, hungrily ghosting his gaze over Nasir. 

"Oh, of course," Nasir nods, agreeing in a mocking tone, "And I'll have to help. I mean, you can't reach that spot on your shoulder blades after all."

"Mhm," Agron is in the doorway now, grin bright and large, "And of course I'll have to help you reach all the spots inside of you that you can't."

He barely dodges the pillow Nasir throws at him, cackling as he walks down the hall in search of Spartacus. 

\- - - 

 

Steam rises towards the ceiling, billowing out above the thin, gauzy shower curtains and clinging to the large, ornate mirror. The bathroom is luxurious; golden fixtures with a black marble floor, large claw foot bathtub, and double wide sink. A gem in the dark and dismal rest of the house. 

Nasir sends up a silent thank you to every deity he can think of for Spartacus and his skill at getting the water heater running. He doesn’t think he could have stood it much longer, the sticky wetness between his legs and the crusting along the long strands of his hair. Nasir likes being clean and there is nothing wrong with that. 

He takes his time stripping off, pulling his tank top over his head and tugging his jeans down. He feels coated with dust, the black grime making his hair feel coarse and face gritty. Nasir swears he even has dirt encrusted in his eyelashes. 

The heat of the shower instantly soothes him as Nasir slips under the spray, letting his loud groan of relief echo in the large space. Nasir instantly starts scrubbing at his skin, loosening the grit from across his knuckles and wrists, digging it out of his hair. He lets the water beat down on him, the water turning a murky gray brown before clear against his feet. 

Nasir lathers the soap heavily through his hair, down over his neck. Slowly, he begins to feel at least a little human again, working on his arms when he hears the bathroom door click open. 

"Babe?" Nasir calls out, caressing his hand over his chest. "Can you come take a look at my back? My shoulder is killing me." It’s true. Ever since he entered the room, there has been a sore spot just at the base of his shoulder blades, almost as if he smacked himself down on the edge of a table or chair. Nasir can’t remember doing anything though. 

The only answer he receives is the heavy thuds of footsteps on the marble, a large outline darkening the shower curtain. Nasir can tell from the set of wide shoulders and height that it's Agron, standing just outside of the large bathtub, but the way he's standing is strange. It's almost like Agron is trying to lean his head against the fabric, peer in through it.

"Do you want to join me?" Nasir grins a little, turning his body towards his fiancé’s. "I don't mind getting dirty if you help me get clean again."

The shadow doesn't respond, instead, a large dark hand raises and uncurls his fingers, presses them to the curtain. It dents it in towards Nasir, forcing the other man back half a step, and then stops - suspended in the air. Slowly, as if considering the offer, Agron's head tilts to the right until his ear nearly touches his shoulder, neck jointed at a sharp right angle. 

"Babe?" Nasir doesn't know why, but he feels off - oddly afraid of Agron. It's not a feeling he usually associates with his boyfriend, but it's like a sickening sense of foreboding. "Agron? If you don't want to, you don't have to."

Agron's fingers drum on the curtain, billowing it in a steady rhythm. It sends a chill through the bathtub, the breeze raising goosebumps on Nasir's forearms and chest. 

Timidly, Nasir finishes washing the shampoo from his hair, eyes unable to move from Agron's shadow. He hasn't moved except for his fingers, just kept his large palm pressed to the fabric and his head to the side. It's not the first time that Agron has watched Nasir shower, but usually that included Nasir putting on a show and Agron losing his clothes halfway through and dragging Nasir out to fuck him hard and rough on the bathroom floor. 

This is something different. Something almost, sinister, about the way Agron lingers there. 

"Agron?" Nasir tries again, pressing his back against the shower wall as the finger suddenly stop. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to break the tension, "You're being such a creeper. Say something."

Agron moves his head back up straight quickly and then turns, movements jointed and obtuse. It looks like he doesn't know how to move fluidly, but instead snaps back together as if strung together by cord. He keeps his hand on the curtain, palm trailing as he turns towards the door and slinks forward. It all happens so quickly, Nasir plastered against the wall, frozen until the click of the bathroom door echoes loudly in the silent space. 

It's like someone has turned the volume back on in the world, the sound of the shower suddenly deafening as it comes full force - water turned from scalding to tepid in moments. Nasir scrambles to turn it off, yanking the curtain back to snatch a towel from the rack. He's so preoccupied by drying off, trying to get the feelings back in his hands and feet, that he almost misses the message slowly disappearing in the fog of the mirror. 

"I see you.”

 

\- - - 

“Hey there habibi,” Naevia greets, gently wrapping her arm around Nasir’s shoulders. It’s hours later, and they all have fallen into a silence, each person working on a specific place in the house. 

“Hey,” Nasir replies faintly, holding up two paint swatches against the upstairs hallway’s wall. 

“So last night was a bit of a nightmare,” Naevia broaches the subject lightly, no conviction in her voice. “You and Agron alright?”

“Yeah,” Nasir sighs deeply, “Everything is fine. We made up.”

Naevia watches Nasir holding up the plastic pieces of paper, one a pretty emerald and the other khaki. Either would look good in the long stretch, but Naevia doesn’t care about that. She cares about the darkness in Nasir’s eyes, the tightness in his shoulders. Something has been brewing there for a while. 

“You’re not having second thoughts are you? Because Chadara sent me an email before we left with pictures from her fitting and you were right, the scarlet looks amazing on her. And Crixus and I have both of our outfits hanging in the closet.” Naevia bumps Nasir’s hip, “Would be a real shame if we don’t get a chance to wear them.”

“I’m not calling off the wedding,” Nasir finally turns to look at her, “I just feel-“

He pauses, worrying his teeth along his bottom lip. Nasir looks crushingly young when he does that, eyes huge. Naevia wants to wrap him up again, hug him tightly until she can squash his fears, take him back to a year ago when Agron and him had just moved into their house together – when hopes were high and everything seemed possible. 

“Feel how?” Naevia encourages. 

“I don’t want to do this forever. I could never stay with someone that didn’t get along with you, and you’re the closest thing I have to a sister. So, what’s going to happen when Duro finally gets to Agron? I don’t want him to leave his brother for me. I would never ask that of him,” Nasir sighs again, deep in his chest, "I'm just not sure anymore."

"No relationship is perfect, Nasir," Naevia reassures, "Crixus and I still have fights and bad days."

"I'm not talking about a bad day or even a bad week," Nasir leans back against the wall, "I'm talking about a bad year. I don't know what else to do to make Duro like me. Agron says he's just getting used to it, but fuck."

Naevia sighs, brushing her fingertips through Nasir's hair at his temple, soothing and gentle. She's at a loss for words, unsure what she can do to heal these sort of wounds. All she can do is offer this - support, caresses, the quietness that only true friendship allows. 

Brushing a stray tear from his cheek, Nasir fakes a smile and shakes off the sadness. They don't have the time, the space for him to show his inner demons right now. He will bottle them up instead, hide them inside where no one will find them – the insecurity and pain that chips away at everything Nasir does. He turns back to the wall with a deep breath, schools himself, holding up the swatches of paint again. 

"So emerald or khaki?"

They work for a little while longer, mapping out what rooms will change color and what fixtures need to be redone in the east side of the house. It's mostly bedrooms, lavish with ornate four posters and carved armoires bursting with old relics. Each room is differently shaded, color schemes rich and dark - crimsons, royal purples, indigos, and teal. Whomever decorated it the first time must have taken a lot of care to make sure that the velvet drapes and the wallpaper match, even down to the crystal doorknobs. Nasir doesn't even want to change that many of the color schemes. They just need a bit of cleaning, whomever lived here before had exceptional taste.

It's early evening by the time they reach the last bedroom, farthest down the hall and enclosed by a carved door, tiny birds, fairies, and grinning satyrs peak out among the dark wood. It seems that the design of nearly all the woodwork is based on mythology and fairytales. It would be charming except for the way the dust clings to their carved eyes, mouths open in snarls and grins. The sunlight hasn't appeared yet; it's still dreary out as Naevia pulls back the pale blue curtains, shedding what little light she can within. 

It's modest, really, octagon shaped with big picture windows on one wall that overlook the back garden. The view must be beautiful in the spring. Against the opposite wall is a small laced bassinet, empty except for a velvet blanket curling over the edge. Time seems not to have touched the cobalt color, looking nearly new if weren't covered in the same layer of dust as everything else. In the center, the crib sits, curled wood painted white. Against the head, a glass eyed teddy bear is its only occupant. 

"A nursery?" Naevia asks, turning to watch Nasir. He's holding up a tiny onesie, a sailboat embroidered on the front with an unreadable expression on his face. 

"For a son," Nasir looks up, a somber wrinkle settling between his brows, "Never born." 

"How sad," Naevia glances over the small paintings on the wall, animals and children laughing. A row of wooden horses stands on the forgotten dresser, changing table's shelves left stacked with unused cloth diapers. The room has a sense of hope, of joy, lost forever under lays of time. Naevia turns back to the window, watching the angry clouds instead. She rests her hand on the small swell of her own stomach, a kept secret. 

Nasir puts the baby clothes down, inspecting the large mobile hanging over the crib instead. Carved seagulls float among small, shining disks. It's meant to keep the baby entertained, casting rainbows around the room. There is no sunlight now though, and when Nasir taps one, it sends the whole thing spinning slowly, reflecting the hues of the room. Nasir watches it over and over again, hypnotized by it. His face caught over and over in its reflection, his round face, his big eyes, hair pulled up and frizzy from the humidity. 

Behind him, to the left, a shadow moves silently into the doorway, tall and thick shoulders. Nasir can't make out who it is but there is something so peculiar about the shape - familiar yet wrong. It seems almost wavy – like a skewed image through a glass. Even in the line of dim light, the shadow is a never ending darkness. It tilts its head slowly to the right, neck bending sharply - too far to be human. It seems as if the shadow grows as it contorts, a gust of cold air filling the room. It slinks closer - not steps but seems to grow until the whole doorway is filled with it, long tentacle like fingertips spreading out over the door.

"Nae," Nasir gasps, immobilized as the shadow seems to open its mouth, elongated jaw dropping in a silent scream. 

"What?" Naevia doesn't turn around, squinting into the darkness. She can just make out the trucks, windshields slick and covered in leaves. They look helpless out there, abandoned and slowly being swallowed by the earth.

"Naevia!" Nasir can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, voice trembling. The creature is nearly into the room now, the ragged outline of its mouth growing bigger and bigger. With it comes the undeniable feeling of pure horror, the type that twists hot and acidic in the stomach. 

"What habibi?" Naevia turns, rolling her eyes, only to freeze mid-step. Eyes widening slowly, she drops the small booklet of paint swatches, the pieces of paper scattering all over the pale rug. 

"What," Nasir whispers, shoulders shaking, knuckles turning red where he’s gripping the crib, "is behind me?"

"I-I don't know," Naevia reaches out her hand, watching as the creature's own grows nearly to the doorknob. It’s drawing closer, spreading and absorbing any of the pale light that may have entered the room. If it keeps its pace, it will reach Nasir in a few moments. 

“Naevia,” Nasir isn’t breathing, watching his friend’s face with damp eyes, “I-“

“Fuck.” Reaching out both of her hands, Naevia motions quickly. "Come on. Come on."

Nasir takes a deep breath, then with a startled cry, dashes around the crib and towards the window. Naevia's arms wrap around him, pulling him close and crouching as the creature lunges with a high pitched scream. The wailing extends beyond the room, beyond anything neither Naevia or Nasir have ever heard. It is supernatural, inhuman with the way it pierces the air. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to. The air fills with a thick, rotting stench that reeks of old meat and molasses. Naevia and Nasir cling tightly to one another, ready for the impact, but it never comes. The silence stretches, scent slowly disappearing. When they both turn, the room is empty. 

They're terrified again when a moment later, Duro suddenly appears where the shadow had previously stood, shoulders filling the doorway. There is plaster in his hair and tiny flecks of paint stick to his sweaty skin, appearing young and very much alive. Duro looks surprised at the state of them, cowering below the window, and offers an awkward smile. 

"Hey. Are you guys okay?" Duro asks, "I came to get you for lunch. We got the stove working. Mira made macaroni and cheese."

Unthinking, Nasir dashes across the room and wraps his arms around Duro's waist, burrowing his face in his chest. The horror of what has just happened washes over him, reaching out to slip his fingers along the wet patches of sweat on the back of Duro’s shirt. He doesn't want to let the other man to know that he's crying, suppressing his sobs as best as he can. He knows that Naevia is behind him still, approaching both of them more cautiously, but it doesn't help to calm his nerves. 

There is no reason for what they've seen, no logical explanation. Nasir knows that if he says anything, it will only start an argument. Duro will take it the wrong way, see it as a temper tantrum and Nasir wanting to 'ruin his project.' Nasir can't risk that, won't listen to Agron and Duro fight over him again. He just wants to forget what just happened, but it keeps replaying over and over.

"Whoa there," Duro cups the back of Nasir's head, dropping a kiss onto the crown. It is strange to show Nasir such bodily affection, but Duro can feel Nasir shaking, bears the weight of his gripping hands, and suddenly protecting him means everything. Agron would want Duro to hold his fiancé, to make sure he’s alright. "It's alright, Nasir. You’re okay."

"Let's go downstairs," Naevia suggests abruptly, skidding around the two and nearly running from the room. "I'm starving. Come on."

Duro leads Nasir out, but not before Nasir reaches back, slamming the door tightly shut behind them.

 

\- - - 

Agron applauds himself sometimes, for the amount of patience and level-headedness that he has when it comes to the approaching wedding. He has opinions, advice given freely when Nasir asks for it, but for the most part – he’s let Nasir do what he wants. It’s not that Agron doesn’t care or isn’t excited, it’s just that the things Agron knows are going to happen are completely out of his control. 

For instance, Saxa, Lugo, and Duro to some degree have decided to hold the Polterabend at Saxa's house. It's mostly because she has hardwood floors that are waxed religiously and neighbors that have given up calling the cops on the family of drunken Germans always making all the noise. Nasir knows about the party, knows it's an old German tradition to get all the wedding guests and party together to celebrate prior to the big day. And Agron is sure that Nasir knows about the plates and dishes that will be smashed under the old saying 'Scherben bringen Glück' meaning 'Shards bring luck.' He'd seen Saxa and Donar carrying in the dozen or so boxes of porcelain into her house one afternoon. 

What Nasir probably doesn't know about, and Agron has been sworn to secrecy under threat to his manhood (by Saxa and a rather sharp paring knife), is the kidnapping. Donar promised they would be gentle about it, not just ransack the house and throw Nasir over his shoulder. Saxa and Duro on the other hand can get extremely old schooled, and when Lugo agreed to help, Agron knew it was over. All he has to do is go find them, search them out and then pay for all the drinks they had while they waited. Agron knows that Nasir is a light weight, but he's pretty sure he's seen Saxa and Lugo put away a keg each one time. 

He can't be upset though, can't even have a dark thought about the whole thing. Sitting on the half log bench in the kitchen, Agron feels his chest swell with happiness. He's surrounded by his friends - family really - getting ready to make vows in front of all of them swearing to love and care for and protect the man he loves. There is no better life than that. 

"You have that faraway look in your eye again," Mira coos, setting down two plates before him. "Either you're thinking of murdering someone or..."

"Nah," Agron laughs, "Just thinking. We need to go to town tomorrow. I've got to no cell service up here and I need to touch base with the wedding venue. Need to make sure they got the deposit."

"Almost time." Mira sing songs, "You getting excited?"

"Very," Agron grins, the brightness of it dimming as Naevia shoves through the swinging door. Behind her, Duro leads Nasir in, arm tight around his shoulder. Nasir's face is pale and eyes glassy, rimmed in red. 

"Hey baby, what's wrong?"

Agron instantly moves to stand, reaches for him. He pulls Nasir down on the bench next to him and kissing his cheek gently when Nasir doesn’t automatically reply. It doesn't escape him that Duro has to unlatch Nasir's fingers from his shirt around him, gently pushing him down and away. Nor can Agron ignore the wet patches on Duro’s shirt, level with where Nasir’s face would press. 

"Just allergies, all the dust," Nasir whispers faintly, leaning heavily against Agron's side. He looks suddenly so very fragile, the soft cut of his jaw and full mouth making it painfully apparent that Nasir is the youngest in the group. 

"We can sit out on the porch after this, get some air," Agron soothes, tilting Nasir's face up towards him. He can see the lie, the hidden secret that Nasir isn’t telling him, but he'll wait it out. It is not the time nor the place to force Nasir to explain what happened, why he’s so upset. Agron is sure to grab Duro’s attention though, mouth grim when Duro just shakes his head. 

“Sure,” Nasir replies noncommittally, poking his fork into his food.

Kissing his temple, Agron strokes his fingers through the curls at the back of Nasir’s neck. His pulse is beating hard, seeming to even throb against Agron’s palm as he tries to sooth him. Nasir doesn’t let Agron pull away from him the whole meal, hand clamped tightly on his knee. 

\- - - 

"Good first day?" Auctus asks, stretching out his legs down the bed as Duro slips onto the coverlet. They've chosen the indigo room, heavy curtains littered with stars around their bed. It’s too plush for their usually simple taste, but Auctus has a simple pleasure when Duro lays down against the color, body seeming to glow.

"Excellent. Lots of stuff to do but a lot of stuff just needs to be cleaned," Duro grins, rolling over until his head can rest on Auctus' chest. His back muscles bunch with the movement, the lingering of a summer tan turning Duro’s bare skin bronze. “We may even be done ahead of schedule.”

"Don’t get too prideful. It’s just the excitement taking over." Auctus teases, swatting at Duro's ass. Duro retaliates with a loud laugh, pretending to roll away before coming back. Secretly, he enjoys he sting of it, the way Auctus’ body is bigger, easier for him to manhandle Duro around when he wants to be held down and taken. 

"I am excited," Duro laughs, "This is going to be the easiest job and with the biggest payout.” He trails his fingers over the waistband of Auctus’ sweatpants. “By the time we’re done here, we’ll be able to go back and go to our house. Leave the fucking love birds alone to their fighting and wedding planning.”

“Don’t be so hard on them,” Auctus shakes his head, tugging one of Duro’s curls, “You would be wanting to kill them too if they had stayed in our house for nearly a year. You’re sick of them now and we’re their guests. Plus, can you blame them for being excited? They’re dumb and in love. You can relate, yeah?”

“I guess. But does that mean we’re going to get sick of each other?” Duro tries for playful, but there is a shyness there, uncertainty. “Are you happy to be here with me?"

"Very much," Auctus nods, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend, easing his tongue slowly into Duro's mouth.

They make out slow, hands sliding along familiar planes, tracing bones and scars. It's muscle memory, the feeling of one another against each other, the taste and slick grind of their bodies against one another. Auctus can feel the flutter of Duro’s heart against his own, the steady beat racketing faster and faster as Auctus slips his fingers down to the soft indents of Duro’s waist. Where Auctus’ body is hard, twisted muscle into firm skin and bones, Duro still has some softness to him, enough to sink his fingers in. Duro rolls over onto his stomach and Auctus cups the back of his neck, drags him down and against him, legs tangling. 

Behind them, the closet door unlatches with a soft click. Neither of the men seem to notice, oblivious to the pair of white eyes staring at them from within, nor the long, black fingertips stretched over the side to ease the door open on its hinges. It’s silent in the room except for the panting breaths and moans on the bed, distraction even as the darkness of the closet spreads unnaturally outward.

"Duro," Auctus murmurs, hands sliding down his spine to grip his ass, as he peers over Duro’s shoulder, “Why did you leave the closet open?”

“What?” Pulling back from the dark mark he’s just left on Auctus’ neck, Duro glances over his shoulder. 

The closet is directly across from the bed, the long pole and left over antiques inside shrouded in darkness. A single oil lamp sits on the bedside table, a small right of light across the bed and wall illuminate a sanctuary in the room. Spartacus managed to get the gas working today, enough to cook with, but the water and power will have to come at another time. 

“Just drafty in here, you know, old houses and shit,” Duro turns back, spreading his legs around Auctus until his sweatpants stretch taught over his thighs. It outlines his cock, thick and hard, stretched out towards the right, tip drooling at the waistband. “Ignore it.”

Auctus tries to, he really does, feeling Duro grind into his lap like that usually does the trick. Especially when Duro starts making those wet, gasping moans that drive Auctus insane. There is something eerie about that long, dark emptiness of the closet though. Auctus knows it’s unreasonable to be scared of it, but it feels as if something is waiting inside – just beyond the border of recognition. It doesn’t feel like it’s just observing though, but angry – furious hostility that makes goosebumps rise on Auctus’ skin. 

“Auctus,” Duro groans, hands warm brands on his chest, nails digging in. “ _Fuck me_.”

He can’t stand being able to look into the shadows and feel as if it’s gazing back. He grips Duro’s hair tightly in his fist, tugging curls, and rolling them over. At least with Auctus on top, he can try to forget about it, try to ignore what he thought was something moving within the shadows, of a twisted mouth and the scent of rotting meat barely wafting into the room. 

 

\- - -

 

“Alone at last,” Agron groans, crawling up the length of the bed until he can burrow himself face first into Nasir’s stomach. The crimson comforter is pulled back and folded at the foot of the bed, stark white sheets stiff against their skin. Agron drags his nose along the edge of skin above the thick waistband of Nasir’s sweatpants, can smell the soft scent of soap and sweat, long to taste the curl of ink that extends along Nasir’s sharp hip bone.

“We are,” Nasir moves his legs so Agron can fit between them, letting one hand slip from his book to bed his fiancé’s hair. He does it almost lazily, a slow drag back and forth.

“What are you reading?” Agron’s voice is muffled from pressing his cheek to Nasir’s belly button, fingertips ghosting over the cut of his hips and slowly counting his ribs.

“Helter Skelter," Nasir replies, scratching his nails on Agron's scalp, producing a thankful groan from the man on top of him. 

"Isn't that the book on the Manson murders?" Agron lifts his head half an inch to take in the red cover of the book.

"Yeah," Nasir lowers the black spine, "I find it interesting. Polanski is such an influential director. Have you seen Rosemary’s Baby? Chinatown? The Ninth Gate?"

"Weirdo." Agron blows a raspberry on Nasir's stomach before rolling off of him and pulling himself up the bed. 

He pads across the floor barefoot, barely making a sound on the plush carpet, to the duffle bags before rummaging through. Nasir doesn’t even bother concentrating on his chapter, instead, letting his eyes drift above the pages as Agron bends at the waist, peeling his jeans down his legs and kicking them off. He’s wearing black boxer briefs underneath, fabric tight and stretched over Agron’s thighs. Nasir knows what the muscle feels like under his fingers, against his mouth, along the edge of his tongue. 

There is something undeniably strong about Agron’s body, the definition in his back, the carved line along his spine, his chest, his arms. It’s not just that though, it’s the cut of his hips, the way his calloused hands feel when they’re in Nasir’s, fingers twining together. Agron’s mouth is soft when he presses it down, cupid’s bow the only curved line on him except for the matching dimples in his cheeks. He’s rough when Nasir wants it and gentle when he needs it, drawing it out, playing Nasir’s body like his favorite, most cherished instrument, and Nasir can do nothing but sing under his attentions. 

And he loves him. He loves him so much that Nasir thinks he could choke on it and still beg to keep the taste.

Nasir watches him slide back up the bed, tank top rucked up high on his ribs before he pulls it down, tossing his watch on the table and cracking open a water bottle. Instantly, Nasir feels guilty - remembering his conversation with Naevia from earlier this afternoon. He knows he's never going to leave Agron, not willingly, but sometimes it's so hard. The constant fighting and the feeling of helplessness are over whelming. He just wants to shut the whole world out, hide inside some safe place where it’s just Agron and just Nasir.

"Hey, what's with the sad face?" Agron reaches over, brushing his thumb along Nasir's cheek, "If you want to read about serial killers, I'm not going to stop you. Just don’t get yourself all paranoid like when you read that book about the Night Stalker."

"I really love you, you know that right?" Nasir asks, voice soft as he lifts his glasses onto the top of his head. 

Agron tilts his head a little, slow, worried smile pulling across his face. It’s a strange segue in the conversation, but Nasir looks so somber Agron can’t even come up with a snarky quip about it.

"Of course I know that." 

He doesn't stop caressing Nasir's cheek, but instead leans closer, pressing a slow and soft kiss to his pouting mouth. He doesn't pull back until he feels Nasir respond, taking a deep breath and wrapping his hand around the back of Agron's neck. He pulls back to rub his lips together, chasing the taste of Agron back into his mouth, Nasir staring up at him with dark, half lidded eyes.

"I love you just as much," Agron whispers, forehead pressed down on Nasir's. 

"I need to tell you something," Nasir pulls back, slipping his fingers through Agron's, "and I need you to listen and not judge me."

"Okay." Agron nods, smoothing out his features. 

He’s been dealt blows before. He’s had his legs kicked out from beneath him, been beaten, been robbed of everything he’s ever held dear. Agron does not expect, sometimes, for this to last forever. It’s a dark fear, nagging at the back of his mind and whispering in his ear, when Nasir wakes up and knows he’s better than this. Better than Agron – the whiney punk from the wrong side of town, who beat up the world so he and his baby brother could survive. Agron has never had a single thing of true worth to give to Nasir, not even his heart counts that much, he supposes. Agron wishes that love counts as more than merit sometimes. That it counts at all. Because Nasir has all of it, every part of Agron’s heart that he could possibly give him.

Nasir takes a deep breath, working up the courage. He doesn't want Agron to laugh at him, to think he's lying, or even worse that he's trying to start an argument. He's not. It's just that the weight of what happened earlier, it's the horror - Nasir knows what he saw. He knows that the shadow is with them house even now. 

"Earlier," Nasir starts, "Naevia and I found a nursery at the other end of the house."

"Yeah?" Agron asks, surprised by the news. He hadn't thought there would be a nursery an old boarding school, nor did he think the conversation was going to go this way. 

"It was perfect, clothes still in the dresser, toys on the shelves. There was even a mobile hanging over the crib like it was just expecting there to be a baby sleeping under it," Nasir continues, twisting his fingers in the starched fabric of the sheets. "But...But there was something else there. Someone else."

"Someone else?" Agron trails his fingers through Nasir's hair, calming and concerned. Nasir leans into the touch, hands releasing from the sheets, twisting instead into the soft, worn fabric on Agron’s thigh.

"I don't know how to explain it, really," Nasir tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, searching for words, "but a shadow was there. More than a shadow. It was too dark."

Agron stays silent, waiting for Nasir to continue. There is a strange little cadence to his tone, as if Nasir is barely swallowing back hysterics. 

"It was something dark, growing, with long fingers and this mouth," Nasir shudders, his fingers spreading across his bottom lip and chin, "I could smell it too - rotten meat and maple syrup. It just came across the floor and I was choking on it, I could almost taste it in my mouth."

"What do you mean? You saw someone?" Agron asks, thinking that maybe someone else is in the house with them. It's not uncommon for drifters, homeless and desperate, to break into old, ruins to live. If Nasir had seen someone, coupled with his own stipulations against the place, it could have skewed the drifter into something more menacing.

"No. It wasn't human," Nasir replies adamantly, shaking his head, "It was so dark, just completely black. Like a shadow but too big and it kept growing. I could feel it, Agron. It was so full of hate. So angry. I knew if it got close enough to me it was going to-"

Wrapping a large arm around Nasir’s shoulders, Agron pulls him against his side, forcing Nasir halfway into his lap with how he holds him. "It's okay, babe," Agron soothes, kissing Nasir's temple. "I'm right here. I’m sure it was just a trick of the light."

"It was awful," Nasir hiccups, trying to suppress his tears. "I know it sounds crazy. I know, but I saw it. Naevia saw it. I never felt anything like it. It was so angry."

"What did it do? Did it come after you?" Agron asks, rocking Nasir slightly, trying to calm him. He knew something like this was going to happen, the stress, the apprehension behind the project, Nasir barely sleeping lately. Agron should have made sure that Nasir was taken care of before they left, that he had slept and eaten.

"It lunged forward, but then when I looked, it was gone." Nasir rubs his hands over his face, "I was so fucking scared. I could tell it wanted us gone; it wanted to hurt us. It was just like in the shower."

“What happened in the shower?” Agron smooths a hand down Nasir’s hair. 

“I saw someone. I thought it was you but it wasn’t and then I thought maybe it was Duro-“ Nasir chokes a little, coughing on his tears. 

“You think Duro was watching you shower?” Agron pulls back to look at Nasir, brow furrowed. “Has he done that before? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He’s never fully watched me. I don’t think,” Nasir shrugs helplessly, “But he’s pulled pranks and when I got out of the shower, someone had written “I see you.” on the mirror. But it wasn’t him. Like it wasn’t him outside. Something is in this house, Agron, and it’s trying to hurt us!”

Nasir dissolves into tears then, turning to wrap his arms around Agron's shoulders, gripping them tightly. Even though he's in his lap, Nasir feels like he can't get close enough, wanting to crawl into Agron's skin, be protected. Agron does what he can to soothe him, locking his arms around Nasir's waist and nuzzling against his hair. 

It takes a few minutes for the sobs to slow, cries turned to sniffles, and then slowly to shudders. Agron rubs his hands up and down over Nasir's spine until he can speak quietly and be heard. He chooses his words carefully, not wanting to upset more. 

"Baby, are you sure that what you saw is real? You've been so stressed lately, with the wedding and the art shows. Plus, I doubt you got any sleep last night. It would be understandable if you were just seeing stuff because of exhaustion." 

Nasir pulls back sharply, cheeks red and large eyes wet, "You don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you. I just think that this might be something less supernatural and more psychological." Agron pets Nasir's hair, frowning. “I worry about you. I know when you stop sleeping and don’t stay in bed. I know you’ve been getting up to paint or sketch. And you were worried about coming up here.”

"I know what I saw," Nasir turns away, rubbing roughly at his face, "It wasn't my mind. How would Naevia seen it if I had just made it up?"

“I never said I didn’t believe you,” Agron shakes his head, “I just am trying to figure out what happened.”

“I just told you. Why are you not on my side?” Nasir drags his wrist across his nose. The movement is juvenile, making Nasir look younger than he is, and Agron suddenly gets another wave of affection for the man.

Sighing, Agron gently grips Nasir's forearm, easing him back until he's curled up in his lap again. It's better for him to calm Nasir down, get him to rest in a real bed, sleep in the arms of someone who loves him the most. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. He just wants to keep him safe. He just wants to make Nasir feel better.

“I believe you, Nasir,” Agron murmurs, brushing his finger down Nasir’s cheek, “I’m always on your side.”

“I wouldn’t lie about this,” Nasir turns his head, pressing his cheek against Agron’s, “It was there.”

"It's okay babe. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything get you. If something is in this house, they are going to have to get through me to get to you, and I'm not going to let it."

"You don't know that," Nasir whimpers, shaking his head, "You don't. You didn't feel it - it was so angry."

Agron doesn't let Nasir fight it, pulling him down the headboard until they're curled up around one another. He pulls up the blankets, shuts off the light, before he feels Nasir's shaking slowly beginning to cease. Agron keeps tracing shapes onto Nasir's back until he's nearly asleep. 

"I promise, Nasir, nothing is going to happen to you while I'm around," Agron kisses Nasir's forehead. 

"I trust you," Nasir murmurs, mouth barely moving, "I just want to go home, to our house, our plants, our weird collection of goat knickknacks."

"We will babe, soon."

 

\- - -

Rain splatters loud and unforgiving against the far wall, windows slick with water and blurring the lawn outside. It has been relentless, a constant thundering and shattering of lightening for nearly a week. The grass outside is nearly gone, washed away to thick mud and turning the ground into a dark lake. The sky seems to have swallowed the sun, hazy gray days slipping into shadowed darkness. There is no light here, no dawn.

Duro sighs loudly, stretching his arms above his head as he leans back, using the low back of the chair to pop his spine. Before him, the computer screen glows an eerie blue, thumbnail stills of Auctus, Naevia, and Mira working on the main lobby fill the screen. There is also a montage of Nasir painting the mural in the main parlor, hair up and cheek streaked with bright yellow paint. Duro has been working on editing the video for what feels like days, body tight and sore from sitting on the hard oak and hunched over. 

Later, when the sun finally rises, Duro is going to have to try and plug in the mobile hotspot again, beg to find a signal so he can post on time. He knows his fans must be disappointed, waiting around for the progress. For right now though, with sunrise still an hour or so off, he settles for peeling himself from the wooden seat, basketball shorts riding low as he moves around the room – trying to work the feeling back into his ankles. 

Shuffling across the large library, Duro wraps his fingers stiffly around his mug and peers out into the wet darkness. His coffee has gone cold hours ago, forgotten a few inches from his hand, but Duro still takes a pull from it – grimacing over cold sugar and cream. 

They’ve been here for nearly a week, but he feels like he hasn’t slept in months. Duro accidentally chose the room directly next to Agron and Nasir’s, and their voices carry even in the large spaces. They’re always loud – either moaning or yelling – sometimes both in the spans of one evening. Agron is always growling, swearing loud and slamming his hands into things. Nasir shouts in Arabic, curses and blessings, interwoven with crying in a dance that only Nasir’s tongue could possibly master. 

It’s one of the reasons that Duro has set up his office down here, away from the “lovebirds” and their racket and Auctus’ insistence that Duro needs to sleep. He doesn’t. He can work on the pure desire to finish this project. It’s not about the money or the viewers. It’s about this place, this mansion hidden away from the world. One could get lost here. One could want to. 

A flash of lightening splinters across the sky, illuminating the reflection of the room in the glass. Duro sees himself, brows knit and lips wrapped around the end of the mug. The ink from his Ursa Minor and Ursa Major tattoo peaks over his shoulder in a blur of red and black. Blinking quickly, the light fades before Duro can really make it out, but he swears, right above his collarbone where the north star fades over the muscle – a shadow lingers behind. 

Cold sweat breaks out over the back of Duro’s neck, chest tightening as Duro leans towards the glass, using the glow from the computer screen to see. The shadow behind him seems to stick out from the rest, a tall looming figure without shape or borders. Duro can hear Agron’s voice in the back of his head, laughing at him, telling him he watches too many movies. Agron isn’t afraid of anything. He never has been, but this, this eerie feeling that seeps into Duro’s bones, this he can’t shake away. 

The shadow grows, the figure of a man stepping into the blue aura of the computer. Its steps are jolted, as if it can't properly move its legs, approaching slow, so very slow. Duro can't fucking move. He can't breathe, eyes widening as the figure draws closer until it is a looming blackness just behind him. 

Warm breath seeps over the back of his neck, tentacle like fingers slipping up his spine. Duro wants to scream, mouth falling open, but he can't. Nothing comes out even as his hands shake hard enough to spill the cold all over his arm. 

"You." The shadow seems to whisper the words, hissing them along his hairline. "Remember.”

The figure's mouth plunges against Duro's ear suddenly, seeping slowly into him. It feels like cold water being poured thick and wet down into his eardrum and though Duro wants to reach up and bat the monster away, he's held immobilized. 

The figure murmurs like a caress inside of Duro's mind, a linger thought that is dark and sickly, seeming to radiate directly from his core. 

“Kill them again."

 

\- - - 

 

Mira digs in her tool belt, managing to yank the Philips screwdriver free from the small pocket. She’s stretched up on the top rung of the ladder, toes pointed as she tries to reach for the small glass coverings on the chandelier. They’re decided to take it easy today, first real day in, and Naevia, Nasir, and Mira have taken to washing all the crystal in the house. It should be an easy enough task, cleaning and then covering the old chandeliers in fabric, but it has presented more problems than not. 

“You know, I’m really not sure this is the safest way to do this,” Naevia calls up from where she is holding the base of the ladder, craning her neck, “Are you sure you’re steady?”

“I’m fi-Shit.” Mira hisses as she drops the small covering, Naevia managing to snatch it out of the air before it hits the ground, curling her arm against her chest to save it from slipping. 

“We need help,” Nasir drawls, shaking the soap from his hands. He sets another crystal covering onto a thick towel. “ _Taller help_.”

“Spartacus and Crixus are still working on the water in the basement,” Mira sighs, brushing random curls back from her face. “And Auctus is stuck patching the hole in the attic.”

“Well, since Duro wants this house done so much, he should be happy to help in any way he can,” Nasir snips, lips pursed in distaste. 

The women share a look before Mira begins to descend, having to pause to sneeze. Though they’ve managed to open most of the windows in hopes of letting in fresh air, all it’s really done is create more dust that flies around the room, sticking to the skin. They all will need a good shower after this, and possibly to fetch some dust masks whenever someone manages to go to town. The trucks are covered in mud, and will have to be dug out soon, though the rain isn’t really allowing for it. 

The trio wander through the house, following the sound of loud, steady banging. It leads them around the back to where a storage room leads off the side of the kitchen, long rows of shelves having been ripped down from the wall. A large hook lamp is beaming in hues of gold and copper, gleaming and casting shadows over the occupants. 

Agron and Duro stand side by side on the right side of the room, looking like twins with the way the light plays off of them. The stuffiness of the room must have gotten to them, having peeled their shirts off and tossing them over a nearby bucket, both men are stripped half way. Jeans riding low due to the weight of their tool belts, both men’s chests shine with sweat, droplets of it chasing down their spines. They work in tandem, backs flexing taught with muscles as they swing sledgehammers down on the wall, opening the gap even wider, biceps bulging under the weight. 

Naevia, Mira, and Nasir freeze in the doorway, slowly tilting their heads to the side a little as they go unnoticed. Naevia has never seen the two bears tattoo on Duro’s shoulders, both outlined in bright red, and Mira can’t recall ever noticing the deep cut of Agron’s hips, the easy way it slopes down into a v, a hint of ink beside his belt. Nasir knows though, Nasir has a very vivid memory of Agron’s body, and he can’t help noticing the dimples next to the top of his pants, the bead of sweat dripping along his sternum. It makes Nasir want to reach out and taste it, follow its path down and down until Nasir falls on his knees in front of the man. 

“Hey!” Naevia seems to regain her sense first, waving a hand and awkwardly ignoring the looks on her two friends’ faces. 

Agron and Duro turn, smirks identical when they take in the small group. Reaching up, Agron uses the side of his wrist to brush his hair off his forehead, the result leaving it in short spikes. He instantly takes note of Nasir, grin only seeming to grow when instead of shying away, Nasir continues to stare him, head slightly tilted to the side and inspecting. 

“Hello there,” Duro coos, leaning his hammer on what’s left of the wall as he moves over, preening under the attention. He strips his gloves off, tucking them in his back pocket, forcing his jeans down that much lower.

Agron stays silent, dimples showing as he stares at Nasir, watching the color slowly rise up his cheeks. Nasir is devastatingly beautiful when he gets turned on, pupils dilating while his mouth gleams wet from him licking at it. He plays with him, slipping his fingers into the front of his jeans, the motion pulling them down a little more in the front, and Nasir’s eyes flicker down, bottom lip between his teeth. 

“We need help getting some of the crystal down from the lights. None of us are tall enough,” Naevia replies, ignoring Duro’s obvious attempts at making faces at her, his smolder falling flat as soon as she sends him a swift glare. 

“We can’t paint until we get everything covered,” Mira adds in, seeming to not be able to settle on one brother. She does seem extra distracted though when Agron shifts next to Duro, rolling his shoulders back so he seems that much taller.

“It’s cool. I understand little ladies needing extra help from a manly man,” Duro shrugs, shaking himself out confidently, “Wouldn’t want you to stress yourself with any heavy lifting.”

“Duro,” Naevia levels him with a look, brow furrowed, “if you ever call me a little lady again or insinuate that I need help from you because you are a man, I am going to rip what tiny balls you have off of your body and give them to my cat as a batting toy.”

“Shit.” That draws Agron’s attention then, just for a moment as he cups himself through his jeans, grimacing. The movement pulls a short noise from Nasir, clearing his throat, and instantly Agron’s attention is back. 

“Sorry, I’ll help,” Duro mutters, reaching down for his shirt. When he comes back up though and nudges Agron, he notices that both Nasir and Agron have moved on from looking at one another to full out staring. “Are you guys doing that creepy communicate with your eyes thing? I hate that shit.”

“Nasir and I need a minute,” Agron replies, reaching out to slip his fingers along the tendons on Nasir’s neck, thumb tracing down his Adam’s apple. Nasir tilts his head back for it, eyelashes fluttering with Agron squeezes gently.

“You sure Nasir?” Mira asks, grinning as he waves a hand halfhearted towards her, not even bothering to glance her way. 

“Come on,” Naevia wraps her arm around Duro’s tugging him from the room. He doesn’t even think to protest. 

\- - - 

Agron can feel the wall tremble when he slams Nasir against it, half of the rubble scattered around his boots from earlier. It's a fury of motion between them, Agron's hands under Nasir's shirt, tugging it up to drag his thumb across his nipple. Hissing, Nasir manages to ease his nails down the edges of Agron's hair down his neck and across his shoulders, moaning when Agron pulls back, dragging his teeth over Nasir's bottom lip. He watches it plump up, bruised from the harsh kisses, losing focus when Nasir leans back in, canines sharp in reply. Arms bulging, Agron braces one around his waist, keeps him up as he yanks Nasir's legs down to pull off his jeans and briefs. 

"Do you have lube?" Nasir pants, already rubbing greedy and wet against Agron's abs. He doesn't try for finesse, rolling his hips quickly up to drag his cock along the rough ridges of Agron's stomach, whining again when it's not enough. 

"Tool belt." Agron's fingers dig into Nasir's waist, dragging them to grab a handful of his ass while Nasir wiggles, reaching into the canvas pockets around Agron's waist. He manages to get the little tube out, pressing it firmly into Agron's chest with a half dazed grin.

Agron promptly drops him, using hand in his hair to flip him over and press him back against the wall. Nasir barely gets a chance to cry out, legs spreading before Agron's fingers are there, slick and warm and pressing in. On instinct, Nasir bends over, presses his palms to the crumbling plaster in front of him, fingertips cracking it. Fragments of it shatter onto the floor in the next moment when Agron crooks his finger and rubs across Nasir's prostate, Nasir slamming his hands down in response. 

Agron doesn’t bother to tease, slipping one finger in after another, working three into Nasir when he starts to fuck himself back on them. His legs are trembling, ankles caked in the plaster on the floor when Nasir raises his leg a little, bracing his foot against a toolbox. It’s too fast and Agron knows Nasir is going to be sore later, grimacing when he sits until Agron takes pity on him and tugs him into his lap. Still, Agron can’t seem to slow down. It feels like any moment they are going to get caught, someone coming to tear them apart. 

"Fuck," Agron hisses, hand appreciatively skidding over Nasir's hips down to his ass. He cups the flesh in his palm before drawing back, smacking it hard. Nasir lets out a wobbling cry, looking over his shoulder with wide, dilated eyes. 

“Don’t tease,” Nasir mumbles, craning back for a kiss that Agron willingly gives, flicking his thumb over Nasir’s nipple just to swallow his groan. 

“You still with me?” Agron holds Nasir’s jaw, makes him focus. Nasir nods slow, dragging his bottom lip into his mouth. 

“Need you so bad.”

It only takes a moment for Agron to flip him back over, lift him, and press him solidly back against the wall. One hand comes up to grip his jaw, rough and vicious as Nasir drags him into a kiss, and Agron lines up. The first press is suffocating heat, slick and wet and consuming him. It doesn't matter that his jeans are barely pulled down, that he knows they're making a mess, that everyone can probably hear them. What matters is the slow burn of muscle stretching out to accommodate Agron’s cock, Nasir’s breath on his face, his gasps fed directly into Agron’s mouth. 

"Harder," Nasir begs into Agron's mouth, hand clawing at Agron's ass, trying to pull him in. 

"Like this?" 

Agron draws all the way out until just the tip rests inside of Nasir before pistoning his hips forward, using all of his weight to rock into him, rough and hard. The plaster around them cracks even further when Nasir's tips his head back, moaning at the top of his lungs. Agron repeats the motion a moment later, thrusts beginning to pick up speed the more Nasir clenches down on him. 

“ _Yes._ ”

They move in tandem, Agron rotating his hips in quick little jerks that has Nasir arching down onto him, nearly sobbing. He’s bouncing hard enough that he would surely crack his head if it weren’t for Agron’s hair in his hair, using it to cradle him closer but also to keep Nasir’s head to the side as he bites into his neck. Agron knows he’s leaving Nasir bruised, marked with crimson little bites that bleed into bigger ones, a trail from under his ear to his collarbone. 

It's going to be obvious when they’re done what they’ve been doing. Nasir’s braid has come half unraveled, long strands of black hair sticking to his neck, across Agron’s knuckles when he tugs. They’ll both be covered in marks, whereas Nasir will try to politely hide them with collars and scarves, Agron will wear his scratched up back as a sign of pride. He’s sure Duro will say something about it, probably something rude, but Agron knows that when Nasir only digs into him like this when Agron’s hitting it right. When Agron’s pressed hard and rough against Nasir’s prostate, not letting him even breathe except those breathy little hisses of pleasure, cries turned to wails when Agron thrusts in hard, yanks Nasir back on his cock and makes him take it, then Nasir loses control and tugs him closer, begs with his open mouth pressed to Agron’s. 

“I’m gonna come,” Nasir pants into Agron’s ear, legs squeezing tightly as if he means to hold Agron inside. “ _Fuck, make me come._ ”

Agron goes up on his toes when he thrusts into Nasir, using all of strength to pull Nasir down at the same time. He holds it, watches Nasir’s face scrunch up, eyes hazy but staring to Agron’s as if he is shocked to find himself this overwhelmed with pleasure. The effect is instantaneous as Nasir tilts his head back, cries turning to hissed sobs as his cock jerks between them, shooting hot and fast to coat along his stomach, smearing onto Agron’s and up to his chest. He doesn’t let his arms slip from around Agron’s shoulders though, curling himself up to stay steady as Agron moves, short little jerks of his hips that keep him close but deep, purposefully dragging over Nasir’s prostate to milk it. 

He doesn’t bother trying to hold out after that, working his hips snugly up against Nasir’s ass as he comes. He’s in deep enough that Nasir’s eyes fly open and then shut, squeezing down on him in little pulls that seems to rip Agron’s orgasm directly out of his spine. It slams out of him, Agron burying his moan into Nasir’s neck, biting him hard enough he nearly draws blood. 

Knees shaking, it takes all of Agron's strength not to drop them onto the plaster covered floor. Instead, he stumbles over to the tarp in the corner, brushing it mostly clean with his foot before laying Nasir back on it. He contrasts to the dusty blue plastic, sweaty and gleaming as Nasir relaxes back, closing his legs and squeezing, as if he doesn’t want to lose anything. Agron reaches over to the side a moment later, using his relatively clean shirt to ball up and slip under Nasir's head, sprawling next to him. 

"Damn." Dragging his fingers along Nasir's waist, Agron pulls his fingers into his mouth, licking them off. Nasir can only smile faintly at him, still gasping for air. “God damn babe.” Agron taps Nasir’s chin affectionately. 

He draws one knee towards him, not even bothering to yank his jeans up yet. He’s between Nasir and the door so if anyone steps in, they’ll see him first. “I can’t even fucking feel my legs.”

“I can’t feel anything,” Nasir eases his fingers over his skin, touching the still twitching muscles of his legs and stomach, groaning. “Oh my god.”

“You’re fucking amazing.” Agron laughs, leaning over to press his mouth against the curve of Nasir’s cheek, earning an exhausted smile in return. “Give me five minutes and I swear I’ll clean you up.”

“Mmkay. As long as Durin doesn’t find out.” Nasir murmurs, eyes falling closed. He drags his fingers up the side of his neck, brushing his hair back and shivering. The rain from outside has chilled the huge glass windows beside them, bringing the cold into the room. 

Agron almost doesn’t catch it, digging his heels into the floor and bridging his hips up to tug his jeans on over his slowly drying cock. It’s the name that trips Agron up, trying to remember if it’s some reference to a joke that they’ve shared or one of those culty foreign films that Nasir and Naevia watch while sharing a bottle of pinot noir. He doesn’t fucking remember. There is so much knowledge inside of Nasir’s beautiful head for Agron to ever keep up. 

“Who?”

He can’t focus, turning his head to look at Nasir. The orange glow of the utility light basks over him, highlighting the curve of his waist, the seed splattered across his hips, the coil of ink along his ribs. Agron can see the blossom of a kiss bruise on Nasir's chest, just above and little to the right of his nipple. He wants to reach out and touch it, press to the reddening skin, but he doesn’t want to disturb Nasir.

"Durin and the guard. You know he gets upset if you're not back in time for line up," Nasir rolls onto his side, fingers curling up by his cheek, already nearly asleep. He doesn't seem to mind that's naked, though goosebumps have slowly begun to spread across his arms, traveling down to his legs. It seems that the temperature in the room is dropping every moment, and when Agron breathes out again, he swears he sees his breath.

"You're not making any sense, babe. I think I actually fucked your brains out this time."

Pushing himself up on his arm, Agron stretches over to where the other tarps and furniture covers are stacked, tugging a blanket out from the middle. It's a dusty gray, faded and worn, but soft with silk lining along the edges. He tosses it over Nasir's bare skin, tucking it around his waist and shoulders, trying to block out the chill. Nasir mutters a thank you in response, burrowing his nose under the lining and shivering. He barely responds when Agron presses a kiss to his forehead, already asleep.

Agron moves to lay beside him, curling up with their legs tangling, when something catches his eye just over the cusp of Nasir’s shoulder. Through the door to the pantry, Agron can see directly down the main hallway that cuts towards the stairs. There are identical doors on either side, huge mahogany statues of nymphs and satyrs interspersed between them. Their faces are all turned in different directions, features sharp and grotesque in the dim light, reminiscent of the mannequins sitting poised and ready in the dining room. Lightning flashes through the windows, illuminating the creatures for just a moment, a splash of white light across their caricature grins, fingers curled sharp by their faces. They are plunged back into darkness a moment later, thunder rumbling outside. 

Agron shudders, gaze sliding over the faint outlines of them, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes, all of them poised as if watching the two of them. Against his throat, Nasir gives a little snore, blanket pooling down from his shoulder. Easing it back up, Agron tries to focus on the man laying against him, Nasir’s hot breath on his neck and his tiny shivers. He’s sure that if he had noticed the statues staring at him when he was inside of Nasir, he’d never have been able to concentrate. 

A moment later, Agron’s attention is captured again by a low groan echoing down the hallway, the sound seeming to resonate from all sides. It doesn’t sound human or even animal, but instead as if someone is pressing against an old piece of wood, easing it out of its normal place. Fingers curling in the blanket, Agron slowly raises his eyes, peering out into the darkness. 

It’s not obvious at first, not really noticeable if Agron hadn’t been staring at them a moment earlier, but it seems almost as if more statues have turned towards them. Faces once upturned in laughter, a satyr holding a goblet with his face and pointy beard now turned towards them, a nymph with a trailing gown twisted unnaturally with once closed eyes now open towards them. And then, as Agron lays frozen in the darkness, the golden glow of the utility light blinks out. 

Agron can feel his fingers involuntarily tightening in Nasir’s hair, pressing his fiancé against his chest as if holding him there will protect him against what is going on behind him. Keeping his eyes on the hallway, Agron can do nothing but lay there as slowly as a satyr five doors down from them turns its head. It’s feature droop in the shadows, grin turned manic and carved eyes widening as if spotting them for the first time. Their movements are jolted, harsh and stiff when they move their arms, fingers curling towards their palms. 

“Fuck!” 

Agron can’t help but gasp as the first creature begins to extract itself from the wall, dropping to the floor with a wet squelch. It is only upon closer inspection of the contorting and shifting creature that Agron can see its dripping, leaving a trail of moisture on the hardwood floor. Slowly, as if unsure, the satyr presses its hooves to the floor and crawls into a wobbly standing position. 

“Nasir. Wake up!” Agron doesn’t give the other man a chance to reply, scrambling to his feet before reaching down and lifting Nasir onto his own. He’s not even fully conscious when his feet hit the floor, slipping a little on the tarp. Agron would pick him back up if his whole body wasn’t already shaking.

The creatures have all started to drop, an army of twisted faces and contorting bodies as if sensing the two living men are about to flee. They follow each other down the hallway, lightening brightening up their grotesque features again. A nymph in the front jaw drops open in a terribly silent scream, jaw seeming to almost break in half from how wide she’s opening her mouth. 

Staggering dazedly, Nasir clutches the blanket around him, the edge of it just lingering along his upper thigh. He has to grab onto Agron’s arm to steady himself, blinking in the dark light. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The fucking-“ Agron whirls around, motioning out into the hallway, but everything has gone still. It’s as if nothing has happened at all, all the statues back to their original place and curved away from the room. Even the floor is now recovered in dust, no footprints or disturbance to be had. The only evidence that something may have happened is the utility light that hangs dark beside them.

A moment later, a flashlight illuminates from down the hall, footsteps quick and running. Spartacus is in front, Crixus and Naevia, and then Mira flanking him. Their expressions are half cast in shadow, the wrinkles of concern on their foreheads seeming to age them. 

“We heard you shouting, are you okay?” Spartacus sweeps his flashlight over the room, letting it bounce off the two men when he realizes that Nasir is standing there in only a thin blanket and Agron’s chest is still splattered. 

“I-We-“ Agron motions towards the glass window behind them, and then waves towards the door. He can’t seem to get the words past the block in his throat, an excuse lodged there by still on his rapid fire heartbeat. 

“We’re okay.” Nasir murmurs, freeing one hand link with Agron’s. He can feel the cold sweat on Agron’s palms, the way his body has coiled tight and vicious. 

“It was my fault.” Agron motions towards the hallway, jolted and stiff.

“Your fault?” Spartacus inches into the room, glancing around. He can see that the far right wall is half gone, lumber piled along on the ground in a pile of dust. The tarp that they’re standing on is dusty too, smudged where they must have just been lying. 

“I must have dozed off.” Turning towards Nasir, Agron seems to suddenly realize what they must look like, easing the edge of the blanket up over Nasir’s shoulder. “I thought I saw-“ Agron swallows thickly. “I must have been dreaming.”

“What the fuck?” Duro’s voice cuts through the room, appearing at the half destroyed wall, peeking in from the kitchen. “Are you two fucking kidding me?”

His lip is curled up, disgusted and furious as he slams his hand down on the exposed beam. The whole wall shudders and Nasir flinches, taking half a step towards Agron. Duro doesn’t even look like himself, a smudge of something dark under one eye, shoulders hunched up and tense.

“What?” Snapping his head up, Agron’s eyes widen at Duro’s severe tone. Auctus is beside him, looking awkward and too big, hovering close enough to Duro to touch him but he's not. He's just staring at them. 

"Are you two trying to fuck this project up?" Duro hisses, leaning through the gap and into the room, "Do you have any idea how expensive some of this equipment was? This isn't some basic DIY shit. We're being paid to remodel a house and you're too busy getting your dicks wet to focus."

"We took a break." Agron growls back, "And don't act like we haven't all been slaving around for you. We're all here because of your fucking," Agron uses his free hand to air quote, "project. Half this equipment isn't even yours."

"Slaving? That's fucking rich." Duro moves towards Agron, finger out and pointing. It's almost subconscious when Agron moves, easing Nasir to the other side of him so he's the one closest to his brother. "You've knocked down half a way and spent the rest of your time chasing your boyfriend's ass. All you ever do is think with your dick. It's all you've ever done."

"All I ever do?" Agron raises his eyebrows, "All I ever do is fucking take care of your ass, follow you around to make sure you don't get yourself in too fucking deep. We wouldn't even be here if I didn't beg everyone to come help you out."

"Guys," Spartacus raises his arms, already seeing where this is going, Agron's chest heaving and red with barely contained anger. 

"Oh yeah. Must be so fucking hard on you Agron. Always the one to sacrifice himself. Such a nightmare to be my brother," Duro rolls his eyes, his next words spat with venom. "Thank god you have your little bitch to take care of. We all know how fucking whipped you are."

"Duro stop!" Mira shakes her head, arms crossed tight over her chest, "We're all working hard and you're just upset."

"Are we? Are we fucking really?" Duro's turns to her, lips curling. "Cause all I see is shit being ruined because Nasir-"

The fist comes out of nowhere, sharp and quick, the form held beautifully. Agron can't help the warmth of pleasure of seeing how well Nasir applied it, chest heaving but eyes vicious, body wound tight. He must have pulled his jeans on while they were arguing, his t-shirt left clear across the room by Auctus' feet. Duro's nose instantly starts bleeding, shouting wildly as he rears back into Auctus. 

“What the fuck? What the _fuck_?” Duro screams, raising his own fist in reply. It never gets to swing though, Agron catching him sharply by the elbow and squeezing. 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Duro snarls, pointing his bloody fingers at Nasir who gnashes his teeth in reply.

“Duro, I fucking swear-“ Agron doesn’t release his grip, but it’s useless when Duro wrenches away, curling towards his boyfriend instead.

"Fuck you." Nasir shoves around Agron, hissing up at Duro with nothing but fury twisting his face. "I am so _fucking sick_ of your shit. Do you have any idea with how much I've had to put up with because of you? I had a show, a real fucking show, at a gallery that wanted me to do an expose and studio walk through. There was going to be write ups and reviews. It was my big break, and I told them no so I could come out here to this fucking haunted mansion and pick out color schemes for some old rich guy who we don’t even know!”

“The gallery called you back?” Naevia’s voice is faint, horrified as she watches her friend’s shoulders heave. Nasir only nods, having to take a deep breath to keep his voice from shaking as he continues.

“That’s not even all of it. I've had to put up with your name calling and pranks and bullshit for nine months now, Duro. Ever since you came to stay with us you have done nothing but make fun of me and been cruel. And I'm fucking sick of it."

"Nasir," Naevia murmurs, hand pressed to her mouth. Beside her, Mira is staring wide eyed, one of Spartacus’ arms around her shoulders. “Nasir, don’t.”

"No." Nasir shakes his head, voice cracking. There are vicious circles around his eyes, the threat of tears. "I'm fucking done."

Agron tries to reach out for him, tries to pull Nasir into his arms, but Nasir shoves him away, still shaking his head. He turns sharply towards the door, waving off Mira and Naevia, and shoving through the group and into the hallway. Nasir just needs to escape, needs air, needs to be away from this place and all of what it means. The weight of what just happened weighs thick and sick on him, shuddering as he pounds down the hall.

"I-" Duro starts, turning wide eyes towards Agron. 

"Stop. Just, fuck," Agron turns wide eyed, anger turning his words into growls. "Just stop, Duro."

He shoves past the group, ignoring Spartacus’ words as he heads after his fiancé, calling out to him. 

Slowly the group exits, shaking heads and glaring over their shoulders at Duro until only him and Auctus remain. The rain is still pounding on the window, a thick fog beginning to roll in through the woods. It will slowly surround the house soon, blocking out the rest of the world. 

“Auctus,” Duro chokes out, bewildered when the man heads towards the door. 

“That was really fucked up, Duro.” Auctus shrugs helplessly, pausing in the doorway. “Nasir doesn’t deserve that. You know he doesn’t.”

And then Auctus leaves him there, alone in the dark with the rain streaking the windows and shadows lingering in the corners. 

\- - -

Nasir bites his lips savagely, feeling the skin split under his teeth until his whole mouth tastes like copper. He's nearly running, shoving past statues and portraits, down the twisting length of the house and towards the lobby, fleeing from the rest of the group. He doesn't fucking care anymore, can't care what any of them think when his chest feels like it's deflating, pressed tight with every step of his retreat. Nasir knows there is no recovering from this, no getting better, no moving on. 

"Nasir, wait." Agron is chasing after him, boots clunking loudly on the hardwood floor. 

"Leave me alone." Nasir rounds a corner, can see the glow of the construction light in the lobby. 

"Babe, come on. Wait," Agron skids on a long carpet, cursing under his breath. 

“Fuck off, Agron. Just stop! I don’t want to hear it!” Nasir wrenches his hands together, yanking his engagement ring off and throwing it. It hits Agron’s chest, bouncing off and onto the wooden floor. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Nasir, what are you doing?” Agron stoops, picking up the ring. His face has slipped from flushed to pale, eyes huge in the dark hallway. “Let’s talk about this!”

“Fuck,” Nasir bangs his arm into one of the statues, the fawn’s fingers catching on his hoodie, “Just leave me alone. I’m so fucking done with doing this every fucking day. Agron, it’s too much.”

“Nasir, wait.” Agron moves towards him, slower but gaining. “You can’t do this. I know you’re upset but you can’t just-“ He chokes, holding the ring in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t think he can get out the rest of the words, doesn’t think he even knows how to say “you can’t leave.”

"Just go back to Duro," Nasir snaps, angry and hurt. He wants to lash out again, wants to be as cruel as it can, but he can't. Not to Agron.

Nasir makes it through the last archway, moving around the power cords that loop over the checkered floor, past the large coolers of water and food. He can see the double windows on either side of the door, the rain muted gray on the other side. It's not the constant weather though that causes Nasir to stop short. It's the smooth paneling of wood stretched between the two panes of glass. 

Agron nearly slams into Nasir's back, stopping short behind him. He too stares shocked before him, eyes tracking slowly over the expanse of wall before them. It's the same lobby as always, the curved bannister behind them, the creatures crouched along in carved perfection. Their equipment is here too, a pile of tarps and power tools piled near the outlet. It's the wall though that has changed, smooth and solid before them. 

"This is the lobby," Nasir whispers, unbelieving. He inches forward, hand out as if he means to touch, yet freezes before he can, “This is the lobby. This is all of our stuff and this is the lobby.” 

"Nasir." Agron can't seem to stop saying his name, following him forward. Reaching out his hand as well, Agron doesn't reach for the wall, but instead gently eases his hand over Nasir's shoulder. 

"Where's the door?" Nasir starts faint, hysteria beginning to take over him as he panics. "Where is the fucking door? Agron! Where is the front door? It should be right here."

"I don't-I don't know." Agron slowly tilts his head back, staring up at the architecture of the wall itself. It doesn't look new, doesn't look any different than any other wall in the whole fucking place. 

“We came in this way! All of our stuff is here!” Nasir’s voice raises, sharp and desperate, “Agron, you know we came in this way.”

“But the door,” Agron motions towards the wall. “It’s not here. There is no door, babe.”

"No, no, no. Where is the door?" 

Nasir begins to pound his fists on the wall, screaming at the top of his lungs. Repeating over and over "Where's the door?", Nasir can feel the tension building in his throat, choking every word from him. The anxiety seems to wash over him, twisting everything until Nasir knows he's not making any sense, isn't even saying words anymore. 

"Duro! You fuck! Get in here!" Agron steps forward, wrapping his arms around Nasir's waist and lifting him away from the wall, Nasir’s legs frantically kicking out. He's hit the wood so hard that the sides of his hand is bleeding, staining down his forearm. "Duro get your ass in here!"

Footsteps pound down the hall, Duro rounding the corner while the rest of the group seems to come from the other way, all of them convening in the middle. It only takes them a moment to get it, staring shocked and confused at the long expanse of wall, the windows on either side. Instantly, they all begin talking at once, shouting over one another. 

"We're in the lobby, right? This is the lobby?" Mira is the first to move forward, hands out stretched on the wall. 

"Where is the front door?" Crixus bellows too, one arm wrapped around Naevia's waist. "What the fuck?”

“Did you do this?” Naevia turns towards Duro, eyes huge, “Did you fucking lock us in here?”

“How the fuck could I do this?” Duro whips towards her, eyes growing huge, “You think I built a whole entire wall in what? A half a day?”

“What wouldn’t you do to keep us here?” Mira shouts, slamming her palm down on the finished wood, “All you’ve been screaming about is how this is your project and we better not fuck it up!”

Behind them, Crixus has picked up the heavy duty power drill, the one that weighs a good forty pounds. He throws it as hard as he can against the stained glass window beside where the front door once stood. It hits dead center, with enough impact that the glass should shatter instantly, but instead, the power drill bounces back, skidding across the floor. The glass isn’t even chipped. 

“The fuck.” Crixus breathes, shaking his head.

Against Agron, Nasir has turned from hiccupped sobs to low moans, leaning heavily in Agron's arms. He's moved on from full panic attack to the after effects, wobbling breaths and sighs. Agron is carefully stroking his hair, cheek resting against Nasir's crown. He can feel the panic attack twisting and twisting Nasir’s body, pulling him tight with tension.

"I want to go home. I just want to go home. Let me go home." 

"I know baby. I know." Whispering, Agron rocks them slowly. “I’ll get us there. Just breathe for me.”

“We’re never going to get out of here. We’re never going to get married,” Nasir begins to cry again, dragging his hand below his nose. “We’re going to die here.”

“Hush,” Agron kisses Nasir’s temple, pulling him up bridal style into his arms. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m right here, Nasir. I’m not letting you go.”

"There is no way that Duro could have done this." Spartacus has his hand on the wall now too, tapping it with a loosely closed fist. "It's not possible. It's solid."

"See! There is no way-" Duro starts, words are left hanging as a new sound echoes through the large hall, cutting them all off. 

It sounds as if a group of children are running along the floor upstairs, a ricocheting effect of thuds and crashes as they make their way from the West Hall further and further down, drawing closer. It's nearly deafening when the sound reaches the lobby, creating a symphony of bangs and clanks before it suddenly stops at the top of the stairs. There is a moment of tension, silent waiting as the group stares horrified up at an invisible force, the group of children that seems just beyond. 

Slowly, a low creaking echoes through the hall like a moaning yawn. To the left, the door to the dining room opens slowly on its hinges, and within, outlined in shadow, is a figure. It seems to grow, multiply within one blink to another, until the outline of a figure steps forward. The mannequin's face is still glassy, a sickly sheen even though she's grinning, mouth open so wide that her tongue hangs. 

"Do you see that too?" Mira whispers. She is the one closest to the room, frozen between even as her whole body begins to shake. 

The woman slowly tilts her head back and back until it looks as if it will snap from its plastic pedestal, craning towards the mural painted ceiling. Above her, Noah's animals march two by two along the long ramp of the ark. Then, when it seems as if her whole body is suspended in one long line, she lets out the most horrendous of noises. It's somewhere between a scream and a wail, carrying loud and screeching over the large room and down the halls surrounding. It is the sound of calling, of rallying a force. 

"Go," Agron whispers, gently setting Nasir down on his feet. It's only when Nasir is stable that Agron shouts to the rest of the group. "Let's fucking go!"

They pound down the hallway, screaming to one another when suddenly from the woodwork, creatures burst forward. A nymph grabs onto Crixus' jacket, a satyr latching a hooved hand into Mira's hair. Spartacus pulls the beast's arm off to get her free, throwing it at an approaching harpy. The group doesn't stop to take in the horror, can hear the approach of wooden and plastic footsteps, the pounding of hundreds of creatures in pursuit. Dashing through the hall and around the corner, passing lounges and parlors, the glass staining the hallway a dull gray and casts shadows. 

Agron is in the front, a long line of tension as he grips Nasir's hand tightly in his own, dragging him forward. Duro and Auctus are behind them, helping to urge the shorter man faster, creating a blockade when creatures reach forward. They're nearly to the back service stairs when Agron turns a corner and freezes.

At the very end, a large statue rests between two long paintings. It appears to be a bull with the way its horns curve out of the wall, looping up and sharp from its broad forehead, the rest encased in smooth mahogany. It would be a gorgeous carving if it weren't for the way the smooth planes of the wood outline it's body, standing proud and huge over a field of corpses. As if sensing their presence, the bull slowly blinks its large onyx eyes, and then it begins to emerge. Long hooved legs break from the wood, followed by a thick waist, the curve of very human shoulders. Its hands clenched tightly in fists, the beast lets out a terrible roar as it works its way out of the way and into the hallway. 

"Is that-" Auctus has his hand pressed to his mouth, frozen even as the rest of the horde of monsters approaches from behind. 

"Minotaur." Nasir finishes, curved tight and close against Agron's back. 

They only have a moment before the beast is lose, a single breath for Agron to realize where they're standing, turning to look down at Nasir. Nasir knows that look, knows what Agron is going to do before he does it. There is no stopping him though as Agron releases Nasir's hand, pressing his own into his chest to shove Nasir back into Spartacus. 

"Agron no!" Nasir shouts, caught by his shoulders as Spartacus instinctively grabs him. 

It's no use. He's already dashed into the pantry, returning a moment later with both sledgehammers. He tosses one to Duro, nodding his head down the hall as the minotaur charges. 

Nasir doesn't get to see the impact, can only hear the sound of splintering wood as Spartacus turns them, shoving them towards the open kitchen door. He tries to move back, tries to grip the doorway, calling out to Agron, but Spartacus wraps his arms around Nasir's waist and lifts, dragging through the kitchen. He can hear the moment that the minotaur makes contact with one of the brothers, the scream echoing as Spartacus carries Nasir down the old, rickety wooden stairs. The basement door slams shut, cutting off the sound and the monsters from them. 

"What are you doing? Put me the fuck down!" Nasir howls, trying to squirm out of Spartacus' grip. "We can't just leave them!"

"Agron and Duro know what they're doing," Spartacus sooths, gently setting Nasir down on his feet. He keeps him wrapped in his arms though, unsure yet if he should let him go. 

"Know what they’re doing?” In the corner, Naevia is half cradled against Crixus’ chest, glaring out. “The fucking house is alive! Does anyone know what the fuck that was?"

"There has to be an explanation," Mira mutters, brushing her hair back from her face. There is blood at her temples from where the creature grabbed her. "Duro, playing a prank or something."

"A prank?" Spartacus shakes his head, unconsciously rocking Nasir back and forth. "That's a bit extreme, even for him."

"It would take thousands of dollars to do something like this," Nasir admits, eyes trained to the ceiling, "Duro bitches about spending four dollars on deodorant."

"Auctus maybe? Or-" Naevia cuts Mira off with a sneer. 

"This place is fucked. Just admit it."

"I don't know! I don't know anything! Nothing is making sense and I just want to go home." Mira begins to cry, covering her face with her hands. It’s not a pretty sound, the hacking cough of her sobs, doubling over at the waist to hug her knees. Spartacus instantly releases Nasir to go to her, pulling her into a tight hug. 

Upstairs, a crash sounds and more yelling, footsteps stomping across the kitchen floor. Glass shatters and another scream can be heard, the snarling sound of Agron barking out in German. The basement door crashes open a moment later, two bodies slamming into one another as they charge down the stairs, stirring up a thick cloud of dusty when they knock into a cabinet. Behind them, something slams into the basement door with a roar, but Agron is already there, wedging a thick piece of wood across to wedge still the doorknob.

The brothers are worse for wear, Duro is bleeding from a long scratch across his side, wetly gasping as he collapses into Auctus’ side. It doesn’t seem to be deep, but there are claw marks on his chest, bottom lip dripping blood too. Agron is covered in scratches, shirt torn along one whole side and caked in blood. 

“Agron!” Shouting, Nasir crosses the cement floor, having to hold himself back from pouncing on his fiancé. It’s to no avail though as Agron gathers him in his arms, nearly lifting him off the ground. 

“I should have listened to you,” Agron mutters into Nasir’s hair, stroking the locks that curl sweat damp at the back of his neck. "I thought you were just being paranoid. I didn't realize-"

"It's okay," Nasir mutters, nuzzling into the soft fabric across Agron's chest. “You couldn’t have known-“

“The thing in the tent though,” Agron cuts him off, shaking his head in disbelief, “It was watching us from the very first night.”

“I thought you said it was Duro,” Nasir pulls back, recoiling at Agron’s dark gaze. 

“I’m not sure anymore.” Agron’s grip tightens on Nasir’s shoulders. “All I saw was some shadow with a glowing red light watching us. I thought it was the camera but-“

“But what?” Nasir’s voice strains, breaking as he tries to pull away, Agron keeping him there. 

“They were watching us fuck, Nasir. What sort of fucking ghost does that? Why us? Why are we the only ones that have seen it?”

“No one said it was a ghost.” Duro mutters, dragging his hands roughly over his face. He bats his hands against his temples in the next moment, expression scrunched and painted.

Nasir stares up at Agron with widening eyes, horrified and gaping. He doesn’t have anything else to say, fingers twisting in Agron’s shirt, suspended between wanting to scream and completely breaking down. He isn’t fucking sure what to do anymore, except that they need to get out of here. Fuck the money. Fuck the project.

Behind them, Crixus has taken to looking around the room, examining the furniture that litters the floor and the old, decaying cardboard boxes. There are huge, antique boudoirs along one wall, tarped over couches and desks, a dress form in the corner. He pops open a large chest towards the back, the rusty hinges creaking eerily in the silent basement. There are no lights down here, pitch black except for Naevia’s flashlight app glowing from Crixus’ large hands. 

Crixus reaches in slowly, pulling back fragile and yellowed newspaper. On the top, a large bouquet of flowers sits, the petals of chrysanthemums, daffodils, and lilies curl down sharply, blackening along the edges. Under that, a white suit jacket lays folded neatly, a silk and crimson rose pinned to the breast pocket. It's old, the type you would expect to see around the late twenties, double breasted and thick wool. Finally, a large photo album sits dusty and leather, a single word calligraphy gold on the front. It reads "Forever". 

Cracking back the cover, Crixus skims his fingers over the first page. A yellowed photo of two hands, two fingers, clasped around one another. A blurry photo of two people kissing, a wisp of black hair obscuring the camera lens. On the second page, a group of people stand on the steps of the mansion, the very one that the group in present day resides, forming two lines. They're dressed exquisitely, flapper dresses and jeweled headbands, the men in shirttails. There are huge vases of flowers everywhere.

In the very center, two men press against one another, hands clasped. The shorter one is wearing the white suit, his hair pulled back in a lovely silver clasp. The man across from him is tall, top hat making him seem even larger as he grins, dimples denting his cheeks. Behind them, the group stretches out in wedding garb, little baskets of rice in their hands. 

"Holy shit," Naevia gasps, nearly dropping her phone from over her husband's shoulder. 

"Duro," Crixus bites out, standing abruptly, he's grasping the photo album to his chest, "What the fuck is going on here? What are you playing at?" 

Across the room, Duro looks up from where he's mopping the blood off his mouth with the edge of his t-shirt, teeth crimson. "What are you going on about now?" 

"How are you pulling this off?" Crixus steps forward, realizing he can't use his hands with the album in them, he sets them down by the table that Nasir is now sitting on. "Did you think this was going to be some fun prank you could pull off for your channel? That we wouldn't figure out it was you?"

"What are you talking about?" Auctus moves to stand defensively in front of his boyfriend. 

"The fucking pictures! How long did it take you to photoshop that shit?" Naevia cuts in, waving a heavily ringed hand towards them. "Are you even building a house or are you spending all your money on actors to pretend to be statues? Did you rent this place out?"

"I told you all! The owner contacted me about remodeling this place. I've never been here before," Duro snarls, standing up as well. He doesn't like the way that Naevia and Crixus are slowly approaching him. 

"Guys, come on, calm down." Spartacus steps between the groups, hands up, "Let's think about this rationally."

"What is this?" Nasir has the album open in his lap, one dusty hand pressed to his mouth. 

He's moved past the initial wedding photos of the 20s couple, instead open to a page in the center. The couple in these photos are different. The taller man is wearing a Yankee Civil War uniform, the smaller in the shorts and polo of a boarding school boy. Instead of photos of rings and flowers, this section is full of soldiers playing cricket. The couple laying together in a field, eyes closed under a weeping willow. The photos continue on, passing through time and eras of clothing and styles - vagabonds of the forties, sixty hippies smoking a blunt on the back patio. 

Towards the back, the photos blush into color. There is a photo of the couple on the steps of the mansion again, the smaller one on the taller's back. An outline of someone smoking. And then, the very last photo, an aerial shot through the beehive pattern of a screen. It's clear that the couple is in the middle of sex, the smaller's head bent down as if in prayer and the taller sprawled on his back. His green eyes gleam even in the darkness of the tent. 

"How-" Nasir chokes, looking lost and horrified up at Agron. "How is this possible?"

"Duro," Agron's arm around Nasir's shoulders is shaking, "Why is there a photo album in here that has Nasir and I in it?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Duro asks, scoffing loudly, "And are you even fucking sure it's you two? Maybe it just looks like you guys."

"No," Nasir traces a finger over his thigh, staring with huge eyes down at the photos. "In this one, the hippies one, do you see that man's thigh? The one that looks like me?"

He isn't really talking to anyone, but Agron answers him any ways. "He has your birthmark."

"It's not just us. You all are here too." Nasir slips his fingers back over the wedding party photo, the group standing around the couple looking so familiar. 

Spartacus stands behind Agron, clearly the best man. Beside him is Crixus and then behind is Auctus. In the far corner, Duro stands with slicked back hair and a scowl - the only one in the whole photo. Next to Nasir, Mira and Naevia hug one another, Barca and Pietros laughing up at the sky just behind. 

"Let me see." Mira comes to them then, slipping the album out of Nasir's hands and flipping it to the back. 

There, she locates the long list of names - the glossary of contents. Scanning over it, she barely makes it to the bottom before she's muffling a sound, dropping the book onto the floor. It sends up another cloud of dust, the particles lingering in the air. 

"What? What is it?" Duro looks around Auctus again. 

"Our names, all of our names are written there." Mira is shaking again, leaning into Naevia's body. "Names and dates."

"Dates? Dates of what?" Spartacus bends to look at the book, not picking it up from the floor. 

"Our birthdays and then," Mira swallows, her tears beginning to choke her again. 

"Today." Nasir doesn't need to look to know. 

The group falls into silence, each of them staring off into a different direction. There isn't anything to say. They all know they're caught down here, trapped in the cold and dark basement, the howling of the wind and rain above them to accompany the creatures that linger just out of sight. 

"There is a journal in here," Naevia is lingering by the trunk, phone balanced in one hand as she reads, "Listen to this:

_  
Dear Journal,_

_Today, I am to wed the love of my life. Armand is kind and sweet, and though I may have to appear as if I am his slave to the common man, he has promised me a life of happiness and joy on his plantation._

_I only wish his brother Durin was as happy for us as Armand's cousin Spencer is. We are to all be a family and I would have no ill blood between us. Durin seemed excited when he first discovered Armand and I were joined and devoted to one another, but a darkness has settled into his heart, a hatred for me and my love for his brother. I do not know the man when I look at him anymore. I fear for myself. I fear for Armand._

_Regardless of this pain, I cannot deny my love for Armand. When I write to ye next, Journal, I will no longer be Nadan Hasid. I will be Nadan Von Hausen, beloved husband to Lord Armand Von Hausen.  
_

"Durin," Agron repeats the name, slowly raising his eyes to stare into the pitch darkness, his gaze cutting through to Duro's face. 

Beside the edge of the book, now flipped open to the pictures of Agron and Nasir in the tent, a letter begins to form in the dark grayness. 

It looks as if a child is dragging their finger through the dust, slowly writing out a phrase. Naevia's hand is shaking too much to hold her phone steady, Spartacus snatching it from her to point down onto the floor between the whole group. Slowly the words begin to form. "I see you."

"There is no way I could have done that," Duro whispers, breath slowly curling in the air. The room has grown cold, a chill that seeps deep into the bones, lingers. "It is not me!"

And then, a loud bang shatters from above them, causing the group to jump. It continues across the kitchen floor before slamming with all of its might against the basement door. The whole foundation of the house seems to shake from it, 

"We need to go. Now. Right the fuck now!" Agron moves off the table, nearly pulling Nasir to get him to follow. He instantly heads towards the other end of the basement, away from the door that now has started to rattle again, feeling along the walls. 

"Isn't there supposed to be a coal shaft in here somewhere?" Agron shouts, "That leads outside?"

"It was on the blueprints." Auctus comes to help, smoothing his hands along the wall. 

The group fans out, fingers searching blindly in the dark. It takes them a moment, hearts pounding in fear and scrambling in the dark over furniture and tools, before Nasir gives a sound of triumph. He's got his fingers latched through a metal grate, tugging at it forcefully. 

"It's the only break in the wall," he pants, stepping aside when Crixus and Spartacus grip onto the metal, tugging with all their might. 

"When they get it open, I want you to climb up and out." Agron instructs, gripping the back of Nasir's neck. "Don't wait. Just go. Get to the truck." He presses his palm into Nasir's, the keys digging into both of their hands. 

"What? No." Nasir shakes his head, stepping towards Agron. "We go together. I'll wait for you at the top."

"You must go. The hole is too small for me. Just go and I will catch up." Agron can see enough when Spartacus and Crixus manage to get the hatch open, wrapping his arm around Nasir's waist and moving them towards the large yawning hole. 

"Agron," Nasir tries to dig his fingers into the cement around the opening but Agron keeps pushing him, urging him into the dark. "Agron no! We go together! We always go together!" Nasir is beginning to get hysterical, trying to fight against it when Naevia climbs in after him, Mira behind her. 

"Go!" Every moment that Nasir screams for him, it nearly rips Agron's chest open, his heart seizing tightly within his ribs. "Nasir, you must go!"

“They’re coming,” Nasir gasps out, reaching around Naevia and Mira, eyes huge and glassy in the gleam of the phone, “Agron please! They’re coming for us.”

Spartacus and Crixus slot the grate back in place, stepping away. It's locked in tightly, and Spartacus latches it, recoiling when Nasir presses his hands against the sharp diamond shape, dirty face streaked in tears. There is a moment, a horrified and monstrous moment as the basement door rattles even louder and cracks, as they all stare at one another. Stooping, Agron presses his own hand against Nasir’s through the screen, leaning in. 

“Go. I’m right behind you. We’ll cut through the kitchen and out the back door.”

“Agron-“ Nasir chokes out, shaking his head. 

“Hey, we have to make it out of here. We bought all those orchids, remember? Would be a real shame to have spent all that money on those flowers and not be there to get married in front of them.”

Nasir’s expression flickers, pressing his lips tightly together as he draws back, swallowing the tears back and nodding. Agron can’t see within the shadows as Nasir disappears back into it, the skidding sound of loose rocks hitting the side of the coal shaft. He must be climbing, and Agron turns back to access the situation happening behind him, when it seems that the whole scene has suddenly shifted, a blast of cold air ricocheting out from the coal shaft behind him as the pounding from upstairs suddenly stops. 

An eerie silence fills the room again, even the rain sounding muted and far away. Behind them and through the grate, a low moan sounds, deep chested and thick. It’s followed quickly by a scream, loud and wailing, and Agron feels the floor drop out from under him. Nasir screams again, one long drawn out note, before it cuts off – abrupt and rough. The next moment is full of commotion as Agron charges back at the grate just as Naevia and Mira appear on the other side. 

“Nasir! Nasir!” Agron beats wildly against the metal, tugging with all of his might. Spartacus and Crixus are quick to assist, helping both women down onto the cold cement floor, just as Agron tries to charge into the opening. It’s not wide enough for his shoulders though and he ends up doing nothing more than bruising himself. 

“What happened? Mira!” He turns, eyes and hair wild, looming over her even as Spartacus back them both up and away. “Where is Nasir?”

“Something came out of the dark.” Naevia answers for her friend, Mira hyperventilating too hard to answer, “It grabbed Nasir before we could get to him.”

“What was it?” Spartacus is petting Mira’s hair, holding her up in his arms. 

“I don’t know,” Naevia sniffles, keeping her arms around Crixus’ neck, “It was the thing from before. The shadow in the nursery. Nasir was just below me. I turned back to make sure he was still climbing and then it was there, wrapping around him. It swallowed him before I could grab him.”

“Swallowed him? What do you mean swallowed him?” Agron barks, turning slowly from the yawning opening. 

“He was there and then the darkness was all around him,” Naevia replies, voice growing into a whisper, “then he was gone.”

“We have to go.” Agron moves then, stomping back across the basement and towards the stairs, pausing only when Auctus speaks up. 

"You might want to see this." He's kneeling in front of the trunk, the fragile pieces of newspaper clutched in his hand. 

Agron doesn't retreat to him, but instead, Auctus picks up the first article and clears his throat. He scans over it for a moment before beginning to read. 

"A man was found dead in the Venorf Manor last night around eleven p.m. Having jumped from the scaffolding in the green house, Nadan Hasid landed within the garden's fountains and drown after sustaining considerable injuries from the impact. Authorities claim it as a suicide, as a witness, Mr. Durin Von Hausen, watched Mr. Hasid jump. Mr. Von Hausen believes that Mr. Hasid jumped after accidentally killing his owner - Armand Von Hausen – by improperly cleaning Mr. Von Hasuen’s weapon."

"You both died in all of them," Auctus continues, flipping through the pages. "You died and he jumped. Over and over again. The only one left was Durin."

Agron lingers on the stairs, fingers gripping the railing hard enough the wood begins to splinter into his palm. He thinks back on Nasir's mutterings a while ago, his fear and remembrance of this "Durin" character. Of his Nasir's fear and pain caused by Duro's aggression and anger towards him. Of all the times Nasir hid his anger, his tears, the building resentment. 

"We need to find Nasir." Agron bites out, teeth clenched, "before something happens to him."

He begins to stomp up the stairs, heart hammering, only pausing again when Auctus speaks again. 

“Where is Duro?” 

But where he once was sitting, perched on a nearby table, there is nothing. 

\- - - 

__

_Nadan walks quickly down the main staircase, balancing a silver platter in his arms. On top, a bowl of grapes rattles quietly, the cheese wedges and nuts balancing on small woven doilies. He's so concentrated on keeping it all still that he doesn't even notice Durin until he clears his throat._

_"Oh!" Nadan jumps, staring wide eyed up at the other man. "You scared me."_

_"What are you doing?" Durin looms dark and long in the hallway._

_"Armand should be back from his ride soon. I think we will retire and have an early evening," Nadan motions towards the platter, "Your brother works too hard and I enjoy spoiling him sometimes."_

_"Certainly you are not so blind as to not notice what Armand is trying to do," Durin crosses his arms over his chest, "Has he not risen from your bed early these past few months? Only to retire late? Clothes changed and disinterested in trivial matters?"_

_"What are you saying?" Slowly, Nadan curls the tray closer to himself. He never realizes how much smaller he is then Durin until they are standing like this, Durin's dark eyes gleaming down at him in disdain._

_"He's fucking someone else, Nadan." Durin rolls his eyes. "You were a prize, a game to chase and fetch. Once he had you, did you think he would stay interested forever? Think of your status. Of who you were before you got here. I don't know why he ever bothered with a someone's cast away anyways."_

_Nadan opens his mouth to reply, to deny it, but nothing comes out._

_"You are useless. You are dirty. You're disgusting. And it was only a matter of time until Armand got tired of playing with someone's used whore and moved on."_

_"Stop it. I don't want to hear this." Nadan sets the tray on the carpeted floor, pressing a hand to his mouth. He does not want Durin to see him crying, yet he can't seem to stop the tears from falling._

_"Spare us all and go away, Nadan. Just leave."_

_Turning, Nadan does not spare a glance behind himself, but instead dashes down the hall and towards the back stairs. He does not see the dark shadow lingering near Durin, its coal black fingers inching over his neck._  
  
\- - - 

Nasir wakes slowly, being careful not to move as he comes into full consciousness. He remembers Spartacus giving him an "extreme situation" survival lesson once. He thought it was a skill everyone should have. Nasir methodically runs through the checklist, making sure first that all of his fingers and toes were working and then slowly working his way through his body. There is a pounding in his head, but when he presses his fingers to the crown, he can feel a large goose egg rising there.

He can feel cold metal under him, the sharp bite of metal scaffolding and air. Nasir can tell he's high up, slowly opening his eyes to confirm his fears. They have never ventured this far into the house, to the back atrium. The instructions on the remodel had been clear - change everything if you desire, but do not touch the fountain. Now, perched fifty feet above it on an old metal walkway, Nasir understands why. 

The fountain is exquisite, an alabaster octagon with a huge statue of Hadrian holding Antinous in his arms, his face curved in anguish. Nasir can see Antinous' famous curls cascading over his forehead and into the water below. Even though Nasir knows that no one has lived here in a long time, the fountain is still full, trickling down Hadrian's in thick tears. 

"Nasir, wake up." A soft voice is calling to him, brushing their fingers along his temple. 

"Agron?" Blearily, Nasir sits up, pressing a hand to his forehead. The room dips, spinning, before righting itself slowly. 

Before him, Duro sits, his curls clinging to his head in soft ringlets. Nasir can only imagine how soft they must be, how much time has passed since Nasir felt that they were friends, could one day become family, until now - when he is afraid to even be this close to Duro. Nasir had thought things would get better, had thought it was all going to work out one day, but he knows it's not true. 

"You know what you must do. He's going to leave you. He will never choose you. You are replaceable." Duro says the words softly, almost lovingly, still stroking his fingers down Nasir's hair. 

A sudden sadness over takes Nasir, expanding beyond just this moment, into the past, the decades of loss that this house created from one simple crime. A lie that tore the house apart. Nasir can see Nadan standing in the same spot as he sits now, staring down forlornly at the lovers below him. How his heart broke with the idea that his husband, Armand, was tired of him. That Armand could love and want another. Knows that he jumped in a fit of disappear, unable to see the truth under Durin's lies. Could not fight the images of Armand laying with another out of his mind. How later, Armand came home to surprise Nadan with the expansion on the plantation that he had been working on just for him. How Durin and Armand had fought and when Armand had found him, had found Nadan laying, Armand had taken a pistol and shot himself. 

"He's going to leave you, Nasir. You know it's true," Duro murmurs, shaking his head sympathetically, "It's all too much. He never even wants to talk about the wedding. He only asked you to shut you up about it."

"No," Nasir moans, trying to stand, but Duro scoffs gently. 

"Spare us all. Spare yourself," Duro stands slowly, moving out of the way. On the other side of him, the bridge ends abruptly. "Agron doesn't love you. He never has. He just wanted to get his dick wet."

Nasir wants to fight back, wants to deny it, but he can't. There is a dark place inside of him that knows it's true. Agron never loved him, not really. Nasir was just convenient. Agron deserves someone more, someone worthy of him, and Nasir has never been able to measure up. He had hoped, but what Duro is saying is true. After months of Duro being cruel and horrible, Nasir knows what he has been saying all along is true. 

Standing, Nasir's knees shake as he walks to the edge of the bridge, staring down at the soft trickling water, the green glass at the bottom of the fountain. He lets out one shuddering breath, one last exhale, before his fingers slip from the railing. 

\- - - 

It seems to take forever to get from one end of the house to the other, dashing around statues and dark shadows. The house seems to be breaking apart, trembling every so often, an earthquake that shoves vases off mantels and swings the chandeliers. The group is racing against time, avoiding mannequins that reach out for them and a house that threatens to collapse on them. 

Agron doesn't care. His chest is burning, heart pounding wildly as he bolts down another hallway and turns. He can see the glass atrium doors before him, just a few feet away, and then suddenly he's through and they're crashing into the wall. The rest of the group catches up, panting and working to shove the doors back shut, trying to block them. Agron is about to go and help when he spots him, choking on air as time suddenly slows, suddenly means nothing. Above him, suspended on a swinging metal scaffolding, Nasir stands on the very edge of where it has broken off, the toes of his dusty Chuck Taylors hanging over the edge. 

"Nasir! Baby what are you doing?" Agron calls up to him, horrified as he notices Duro lingering just behind Nasir's shoulder. 

"You're leaving me," Nasir cries out, choking on the words. He's outwardly sobbing, half bent over from it. 

"I'm not leaving you. Nasir, babe, I'm right here," Agron shakes his head, reaching his hands up as if he's going to somehow keep Nasir perched there.

To the side, Spartacus begins to slip away, aiming for the spiraling staircase that leads up to the walkway. 

“You don’t love me. You don’t. You’re going to leave me.” Nasir hiccups, shaking his head. His hair is a wild mess of tangles down his back as Duro leans behind him to stroke his crown. He doesn’t look right, blackness seeped into his eyes, cutting off the white. Duro looks like a monster. 

“Nasir, you know that’s not true. You know I love you. I love you more than anything,” Agron pleads, a heightening tension twisting in his chest, “Do you remember that time last Christmas when we woke up super early and you asked me if I wanted to go open presents and I said the best thing I could ever have is already beside me?”

Nasir trembles, choking on a sob again. “You’re bored. Duro says it all the time. How you need to upgrade. How you don’t want to get married. You’re never interested when we start planning stuff. You don’t want me. You just wanted to get laid regularly.”

“I do. I want you. Fuck, Nasir, I want to get married. I want us to have a house with tons of plants and goat figurines and those delicious apple pies you make,” Agron steps forward half a foot, staring imploringly up at Nasir. “Baby, it’s you and me forever. No one else. You know how much I want that.”

“It’s not.” Nasir whimpers, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “You don’t.”

“Nasir,” Agron can see out of the corner of his eye that Spartacus has reached the top of the stairs, creeping towards the center. Duro continues to stroke Nasir’s hair. “I found the adoption papers in your desk.”

“What?” Nasir’s eyes widen comically, curling his fingers against his cheek. For just a moment, his sobs seem to slow.

“I found the adoption papers,” Agron repeats slowly, keeping his hands up and out, “Nasir, of course. Yes. Let’s have a family. Let’s get a baby. Let’s do the whole domestic thing. I’ll coach softball and you can scare all the PTA moms into submission. We can do this. I already signed them.”

Nasir hiccup whimpers again, this time though, he lets out a choked little laugh as if he can’t help himself. 

“That’s it. Come on babe,” Agron sooths, carefully taking another step forward, “Don’t listen to this house, this fucking horrorfest. Come down so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Okay.” Turning, Nasir reaches out his hand to Spartacus, taking half a step forward before Duro acts. 

It’s morphed itself inside of Duro, mouth gaping and dark. There are no teeth within, just a terrible void where no light can go, where there is nothing but pain and suffering. It reaches out its huge hands, fingers long and claw like, and shoves them into Nasir’s chest with a terrible scream. Nasir isn’t far enough away from the edge to catch and steady himself. Instead, the rubber sole of his Chucks slips along the slippery metal, and with a terrible crash, he back peddles into the empty air.

Agron’s scream rips his throat raw, tasting blood along his tongue as he dashes forward. Surreal and grotesque, it seems time stretches into one long arch. Nasir falling, his hair falling up around his face, one leg slightly raised above the other. Spartacus leans over the grated scaffolding, one arm outstretched, a look of horror pulling his mouth open wide. Near the door, Naevia and Mira scream at the same pitch, high and wailing. 

Duro is flung on his back, the shadow seeping out of his eyes, his nose, his mouth. It’s liquid tar that grows and grows, taking shape in the air as if smoke. He’s left coughing and gagging when the shadow finally breaks free. 

Then, as if someone has pressed the play button on the remote, everything speeds into present time. There is an audible crack as Nasir falls into Agron’s arms, forcing the large man down onto his knees from the impact. It’s not that Nasir is heavy, just the inertia of the fall and the force. He knows that his arm is broken, his elbow probably ruined, but Agron can’t even be mad about it. Nasir stares up at him with huge eyes, terrified and panting, as they settle a few inches from the edge of fountain. The water from Hadrian’s face coats them, but there is no blood, no carnage. 

“You caught me,” Nasir gasps, cold fingers touching Agron’s cheek. 

“I did.” Agron can’t think of anything intelligent to say, settles instead for kissing Nasir fully on the mouth, holding him as tight as his broken arm will allow.

A moment later, Crixus and Spartacus are there, helping to lift Nasir out of Agron’s arms and onto the ground. The shadow has exploded around the room, growing in mass and darkness, slowly blinking out the glass ceiling of the atrium. Below them, the ground trembles as the creatures of the house begin to gather around, banging their wooden and plastic limbs into the glass. Any moment and they will manage to break through and flood the room. 

“Come on!” 

Spartacus barks, waving his arm as he leads the group to the far wall. There is a door there, fully glass but already cracked from the trembling of the ground. With one powerful kick, he manages to shatter the glass, sprinting out even before all of it has fallen. The rest of the group follows after, Agron keeping a strong hold on Nasir’s hand with his good one. He doesn’t let go even when they manage to get to the front lawn, scattering to different trucks. 

“Go go go!” Duro shouts, crowding in the back of the Chevy with Auctus, clinging tightly to one another. There is no darkness in his eyes this time, just the white edges as he stares horrified up at the house. 

Agron doesn’t have to be told twice, throwing that thing into gear and revving it. At first, the large tires only spin in the mud, fish tailing back and forth. With an almighty shove though, Agron flips it from reverse to drive and they peel out, leading the pack of trucks back onto the muddy and slick road. 

In the rearview mirrors, the group watches as the house gives a terrible shudder, the darkness crashing through windows, wrapping around the lodge in long black tentacles. It crunches into the hard wood of the place, seeming to crush it as if it were made of paper. It never stops screaming the whole time. 

 

\- - - 

Nine months later, Duro sits in his home office, a warm cup of tea next to him. He types for a few more minutes, checking over everything, before clicking submit and sitting back. The blue loading bar on Youtube spins in circles, rendering and uploading the video onto its server. The title of the much, much, much requested video reads “Agron and Nasir Get Hitched.” The video still a photo of the couple during their reception, their very first dance, and Agron is cradling Nasir’s face in his hands, kissing him slow and sweet.

“Isn’t it nice to have a house to ourselves? Finally no construction workers or well wishers. Just us.” Auctus muses from the doorway. He’s only wearing a pair of ratty and old boxers, the hems frayed out. Duro takes a moment to appreciate the spans of his chest, the thick muscles of his arms, before answering. 

“Yes.” He answers, a michevious grin taking over his face. “One because I love you walking around like that and two because I really don’t want to be sharing a house with Agron and Nasir.”

“Got tired of it?” Auctus teases, coming into the room. He drops a kiss onto Duro’s neck, nuzzling there. 

“More like I know they’re the type of people to bring the honeymoon back with them? There are only so many times I can listen to Nasir screaming my brother’s name before it gets weird.”

“You know,” Auctus trails his mouth up to Duro’s ear, “we could test out how soundproof our bedroom is, if you want? You can scream my name all you want.”

Duro licks his lips slowly, “Oh, I definitely want.”

They stumble their way to the stairs, mouths attached and arms wrapped around one another, giggling all the while. When they manage to reach the first landing, Auctus pulls back with a grin, reaching up Duro’s shirt. He thoughtfully strokes the scar along his side, a small furrow to his brow. 

“Hey bambi?” Auctus murmurs, soft and gentle, “Thanks for scrapping the idea of the green house out back.”

“I’ll be glad if I never see a glass room again.” Duro replies, kissing Auctus again as he leads him up the stairs and towards their new master suite. He makes a point, just before he flops back on the bed, to solidly close the closet door, latching it shut from the outside.


End file.
